


Until He Sees the Sun

by thegambler



Category: IT (2017)
Genre: Based on Dear Evan Hansen, Implied/Referenced Suicide, M/M, dear evan hansen au, no graphic depictions of suicide fear not
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-10-24
Updated: 2018-12-03
Packaged: 2019-08-07 02:07:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 4
Words: 48,134
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16399367
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thegambler/pseuds/thegambler
Summary: When the unthinkable happens, seventeen-year-old Eddie Kaspbrak finds himself thrust unwillingly into the limelight of the biggest and most dangerous lie he has ever told.





	1. One

**Author's Note:**

> I'm too old to be writing for this fandom and I thought I retired from fic-writing but here we are. :D If you were thinking, "Hey, is this a Dear Evan Hansen AU?" then you'd be correct. It's extremely long and only the first chapter, so we'll see how this goes. Later on, I could be persuaded to share my Tumblr so we can chat, but I'm new and I, too, have social anxiety so bear with me. Thank you in advance for reading and thank you doubly for any kudos or comments you leave! It means a lot!

* * *

One

_Dear Eddie Kaspbrak,_

_Today is going to be a great day because_

It’s 6:43 a.m. and the cursor is still blinking monotonously at him, stuck on the glowing white screen of his laptop exactly where he’d left it the night before. He yawns, rubs his eyes with the hand not encased in at least five pounds of plaster, and blinks blearily at the screen. He’ll figure it out. Yes. Yes, he’s going to finish this sentence because that’s what he does. He starts things and he finishes them, or at least he means to, he always _means_ to do these things, and whether or not he gets around to it seems irrelevant, really, given the circumstances. He’s going to finish this sentence and he’s going to finish writing the whole goddamned letter and so he stretches, cracks his knuckles, winces at the phantom pain shooting through his broken arm (“A beautiful, moderate hairline fracture,” The ER doctor had said and then had shown Eddie the x-ray and it was not very moderate-looking and the very opposite of beautiful) and sets his fingers on the keyboard keys. Today _is_ going to be a great day- if he could only figure out _why_. And he _is_ going to finish this letter- if he could only figure out how.

_Dear Eddie Kaspbrak,_

_Today is going to be a great day because at least junior year is over and nothing could be as bad as last year so this is your chance to start anew._

Well… that _is_ true, isn’t it? It’s not “wholly and painlessly positive” like Dr. Murray wants all of Eddie’s self-addressed letters to be, but it gets that way in the end, doesn’t it? And the truth is nothing _could_ be worse than last year. He’d spent the majority of his elementary school years as the student to his mother’s teachings of how _homosexual_ (she always whispered it, like even the word could spread its infectious venom if she wasn’t careful enough) was the absolute last thing a person wanted to be, the majority of his middle school years denying even the faintest hint of it within himself, and then the majority of his first and second year in high school trying to keep the truth from escaping his lips each time he opened them. Isolating himself was so much easier than speaking and running the risk of outing himself despite the fact that Henry Bowers and his goon squad had been calling him every gay slur in the book since he was seven.

_And what happened last year doesn’t matter anyway in the grand scheme of things. A whole summer passed and I’ll bet people probably don’t even remember and if they do, then that’s something you’ll be able to handle when the time comes so I don’t know why you’re thinking about it now. You’re not even going to talk to Kat Tozier or probably even see her anyway because you two are definitely not going to have any of the same classes or anything. Maybe you’ll see her in the hallways but they’re pretty long and usually pretty busy so you’ll be able to avoid her._

There isn’t really anything about Kat that gets under Eddie’s skin with the exception that, in an effort to get the heat off of her last year, she’d heaped it onto Eddie. As far as he knows, she’s a loner just like he is and one might think that would easily link them together, but in fact the opposite is true. Kat’s always combative, always ready to cut the throat of anyone who looks at her funny, and Eddie’s really just trying to survive. She’s all fight and Eddie’s all flight; he’s used to being invisible after seventeen years of living in the shadows and he’d like to keep his invisibility cloak, thank you very much. There are times when he’s actually positive that if he tries really, _really_ hard, he’ll be able to disappear. It’s something he and Dr. Murray are working on- the “connecting to other people” part, not the “if I scream at the top of my lungs in the middle of a crowded room, will anyone notice at all?” part. Dr. Murray doesn’t exactly think Eddie is invisible and he keeps encouraging Eddie to get out there, to make friends, to just _talk_ to someone- _anyone_ \- but any time Eddie tries this it always goes disastrously.

_Speaking of people to avoid, you should probably stay away from Richie Tozier, too, lest we recreate the_ last _conversation you had with him. The next time you do see him, though, you can rest assured it’s not going to be nearly as catastrophic. This time you can ask about his next play and tell him he was great in the last one, but don’t tell him you went to see it only because he was in it, obviously. I mean he doesn’t need to know you’ve had a stupid middle school crush on him since the ninth grade and this time you won’t panic about not being able to breathe while talking to him, so I don’t know why you’re freaking out about that, either. You will be able to breathe and your throat won’t do that weird choking thing it does when an asthma attack comes on because guess what, you don’t even have asthma at all, so you don’t have to worry about your lungs closing and the pressure building in your chest and you can stop carrying around that stupid fucking inhaler because you’re fine and you can breathe and you can speak like a regular, normal, goddamned human being._

Eddie huffs out an irritated sigh and realizes this is literally the exact opposite of positive.

_Today is going to be a great day because all you have to do is be confident that high school is almost over, college is closer than its ever been and new things are on the horizon._

“Eddie? Are you still here?”

Eddie closes his laptop with a sharp snap and glances up as his mother pokes her head into his bedroom door. She’s never been known to get up off of her recliner, but ever since this summer, ever since she’d met him in the emergency room bawling her eyes out and screaming at any nurse who walked by to _do something help my son he’s in pain he’s HURT_ , she’d been ever-present like a thorn in his side. Eddie loves his mother. He supposes he has to; she’s the only parent he has left. He just wishes she were different. He wishes she would understand who he is and what he needs instead of inventing a version of him in her brain and replacing him with the son she’d fabricated. Dr. Murray had suggested distancing himself from her but how can he when she’s underfoot all day everyday? So maybe this is what he should have written in his letter to himself this morning: _Today will be a good day because at least your mom hasn’t yet found a way to follow you to school_.

“I was just leaving.” Eddie tells her, standing and slinging his backpack over his shoulder.

She frowns immediately. “Don’t do that. It’s bad for your posture.”

He wilts. “Sorry.”

“Did you eat a good breakfast? I didn’t hear you come downstairs.”

“You were sleeping; I was trying to be quiet. I already ate.”

“And you took your medicine?”

“Yes, ma.”

“Your arm doesn’t hurt too badly, does it?” She asks next, stepping into the room to inspect it. “If you’re in too much pain, you don’t have to go to school today. You can start on-”

“It doesn’t hurt. Really.” Eddie insists. “I should go.”

“Don’t let any of your friends sign your cast.” Sonia warns. “If the ink from the pen bleeds through the plaster and reaches your skin, it could lead to infection…”

“Well I don’t think that’ll be a problem,” Eddie murmurs. “I don’t _have_ any friends to sign my cast.”

“Oh, Eddie-bear,” Sonia sighs. “You know, having friends isn’t the only thing you should be worried about. You just need to focus on getting better. I’ll be there to pick you up after school today- I made you another appointment with Dr. Murray for this afternoon.”

“Why?” Eddie asks. “I… I just… I’m seeing him next week.”

“Well the first day of school can be so stressful,” Sonia explains. “Especially with everything else you’ve got going on…”

“Ma, I’ve got _nothing_ going on.”

Sonia looks at him, smiles sort of sadly, and asks, “Are you writing the letters?”

“Yeah. I mean, well, I just…” He sighs. “I started one. I’m almost done. I guess I just… I was waiting… I don’t know.”

Before she can say another word, Eddie shakes his head, pushing past her and heading for the stairwell. He calls over his shoulder, “I’ll finish it before the appointment. I promise!”

“Eddie! Don’t forget your hand sanitizer! Hand in that letter to your gym coach so you don’t-”

The front door slams behind him as he steps into the early September sunshine. Eddie glances at his watch, beeping in time with the anxious slam of his ribcage and thinks to himself, _Today is going to be a good day_.

_Maybe. I hope so._

_I really don’t know._

***

The kitchen smells of pancake syrup and Folger’s and there’s a classic Patsy Cline song on the old radio that lives on the counter by the sink. Maggie sways a little as she stirs the batter, in a way her children- should they ever leave their beds this morning- would absolutely detest and be ashamed of. The thought makes her chuckle and she begins to spoon the batter onto the griddle in perfect circles, reaching for the coffee pot the moment she’s done. Wentworth sits at the head of the kitchen table, leafing through the newspaper and complaining about how all they ever report is death and destruction these days. Maggie tops off his “World’s Okayest Dad” mug- a gift from Richie for Father’s Day eight or so years ago, something the two of them had died laughing over and something Maggie never quite understood. She kisses his cheek before she goes and he grins, thanks her once for the coffee, and then a second time when she tosses a pancake or two onto his plate.

“They keep saying they’re going to pull our boys out of this war,” Wentworth comments, shaking his head and turning the page. “And yet here we are, going on twelve years? Thirteen? And we’re still in the damn desert.”

“Hey, no politics at the breakfast table.” Maggie says. “Where are your children?”

“I haven’t known the answer to that question in ten years.” Wentworth replies. “Supposed to be in the high sixties today. Almost seventy! Some fall we’re having.”

“It’s not fall until the end of the month,” Maggie tells him. She glances at the clock. “They’ve got to be going. School’s in an hour; they should’ve probably already left.”

“Rich’s never been on time to anything a day in his life.” Wentworth points out. “And if you can figure Kat out, my number’s on the fridge.”

“You’re terrible.” Maggie shakes her head, leaning out of the kitchen to shout up the stairs, “ _Katherine! Richard!_ You’re too old for me to continue to be your alarm clock! _Up!_ ”

“What a shame. Stocks are down again.”

“Went, are you here with me at _all_?”

“Maggie, they’re too old for you to be babying them like you are.”

“ _Babying_ them? By making them breakfast? By making sure they’re awake and leaving the house for their first day of school?”

“They’re not six! This isn’t the first day of kindergarten! If they can’t get out of bed for school at sixteen and seventeen years old, then we’ve _completely_ failed as parents.”

“Failed?” laughs a voice from the top of the stairs. “Nah pops, I’d give you a solid C minus.”

They both glance at the hallway as the sound of a bowling ball repeatedly hitting a brick wall echoes through the kitchen and in a moment, Richie arrives, grinning, in the doorway. Maggie asks, “Will you _ever_ go down the stairs like a normal human being?”

“Considering I am not a normal human being, there’s a very slim chance of that happening.” Richie replies. “And for the record, Dad, you only got the C minus because of Kat. Would’ve been a higher score without her.”

Wentworth chuckles and Maggie rolls her eyes. “Richie, don’t start.”

“Start what?” He throws his hands up defensively and then reaches over her and plucks a pancake straight off the griddle, tossing a piece into his mouth. “Hot as fuck. But still good. You kill it every time, Mom.”

“One of these days, Richard,” Maggie sighs in exasperation, though a hint of a smile touches her face. “You’re going to have to clean up your mouth.”

He shrugs and drowns the next pancake she places on his plate in syrup. “At least I don’t have to clean up my act.”

“Is taking pot shots at your sister _really_ the best use of your time?” She then asks as Wentworth turns the page again, sipping his coffee. “Where is she, anyway?”

“Don’t know, don’t give a flying fuck.” Richie shrugs. “Maybe she’s upstairs drowning in her own evil.”

Maggie turns away, ready to call for her daughter a second time. “Have two children, they said. It’ll be fun, they said. They’ll _love each other_ , they said-”

“Mom,” Richie says, in awe. “ _Excellent_ use of that meme. I have never been so proud! It’s usually just the two, though; drag it out any longer and it stops being funny. I think-”

_Bang_. All conversation stops the moment Kat’s bedroom door slams shut upstairs and she stumbles into the kitchen. Richie’s eyes immediately narrow and maybe if his sister’s weren’t so bloodshot and watery when she lays eyes on him, they could do the same. He glances at his watch- 6:56- and thinks this must be a new record; he can smell her from here. His father, just down the table from him, opens his mouth to wish his daughter a good morning and must already sense the tone, for he shuts his mouth again and buries his nose back into his newspaper. His mother, on the other hand, is already reaching to kiss Kat good morning, which she dodges somewhat unsteadily, and Richie’s heart tugs ever so slightly at the hurt that flashes in his mother’s eyes- so quickly, if he’d blinked, he’d have missed it. She fixes Kat breakfast instead, flipping pancakes from the griddle onto the only remaining empty plate, while Kat, uninterested, leans against the kitchen counter, scowling.

“Why are you like this?” She asks Richie and it takes him a moment to notice her penetrative stare is boring a hole into the side of his head. He can’t imagine what he could’ve possibly done wrong this early to piss her off, but then again, it never really takes much. He’s gotten pretty good at ignoring her over the last sixteen years of his life; sometimes he can even pretend she doesn’t exist at all.

“Mornin’ sunshine,” He beams overdramatically. “It hurt when that car hit you last night or did you just fall asleep rummaging through someone else’s trash can again?”

She narrows her eyes at the lake of syrup on his plate. “That’s fucking disgusting, Richie.”

“ _You’re_ fucking disgusting, but we still have to deal with you.”

She rolls her eyes and pushes past him, making sure to elbow him as she does so and of course she’s nothing but impeccably precise in her timing, so she picks the opportune moment of him drinking a glass of milk. It happens exactly like she wants, he’s guessing; half of the glass ends up in his lap, the other splashes to the floor, the glass shattering into thousands of pieces. Richie tries to catch it before it hits but it’s too late and instead of scooping up bare glass with his hand, he glares at his sister and kicks at her ankle- her weak spot, ever since childhood- because he’s never one to be outdone. She buckles in her staggering haste to get away from him and because she’s so hung over- maybe she’s still drunk, Richie wouldn’t know; he’s never been dumb enough to come home _drunk_ \- she reaches for the countertop to steady herself… and misses. Instead, her hand flails towards the bowl of pancake batter, which then topples and careens to the floor.

Richie, milk soaking through his jeans, spits, “Fuck you, Kat.”

“Fuck me? Fuck _you!_ ” Kat shouts back. “This is all your fucking fault!”

“Stop it! _Both of you!_ Stop it!” Maggie intervenes, her face red with rage. “I have _had_ it with the both of you! Can’t we just have one day, _one day_ , without the two of you at each other’s throats?”

“Not if you continue to indulge this teenage fuck up.”

“I may be a fuck up, Richie, but at least I’m not a gay piece of shit.”

“What is _wrong_ with you two?” Maggie wails and whirls around to face her husband, who is reaching for his work phone and tucking the newspaper under his arm. “Went? Are you going to say _anything?_ Could you please do something?”

“I’ve got an emergency down at the office.” Wentworth shrugs and casts identical glares at both of his children. “I’m very disappointed in the both of you.”

“Oh yes! That will solve everything! Thank you _so much_ for your contribution, Wentworth!” Maggie argues to his retreating back. “Why don’t we just send them for a time-out while we’re at it? Take away their toys?”

“Not his toys,” Kat replies wickedly, haphazardly wiping at the batter on the floor with a kitchen towel. “That’s the only action Richie’s ever going to get.”

“ _Katherine!_ ”

Richie jumps up from the table, determinedly not looking at his sister, and tells his mother, “She’s drunk.”

Maggie whips her head back in Kat’s direction, whose eyes widen as she bites back, “You’re a fucking asshole!”

“Maybe,” He shrugs and tips an imaginary top hat in her direction. “But I’m only half gay.”

With that, he leaves the room, and Maggie asks, concerned, “Do we have to revisit the idea of rehabilitation again, Kat? When are you going to pull yourself together?”

“Mom, don’t be so dramatic.”

“Dramatic? Tearing apart your brother? Insulting him? Calling him all these awful things?” Maggie shakes her head. “How is that dramatic? You barely made it through junior year, Katherine, and I don’t see how you’re going to have a future if you continue like this.”

“Don’t ‘Katherine’ me,” She rolls her eyes. “I’m going to school.”

“You can’t go to school drunk, Kat!”

“Okay, fine, so then I won’t go!” Kat screams back, storming up the stairs. “Are you happy now, _mother_?!”

Her bedroom door smashes and the front door bangs shut behind Richie as he leaves and Maggie sinks into a kitchen chair, the mess momentarily forgotten. “Yeah. I’m thrilled.”

***

There really aren’t enough words in the English language to describe the instant regret Eddie feels the moment he pulls open the door and steps over the threshold into the school. The halls are already a rush, a blur, a flurry of activity as everyone reconnects with those they’d left behind at the close of the previous year and no one pays Eddie any mind, no one even glances in his direction, but somehow they’re _staring_ at him. Three cheerleaders are huddled around their leader and her glowing cellphone, laughing with heads thrown back, and somewhere inside him Eddie thinks, _they’re laughing at me_. A feisty redhead pulls a grimace and tugs on the shoulder of a sandy-haired boy in a button down, whispering behind a cupped hand and Eddie thinks, _they’re talking about me_. He steps closer, sidesteps a bunch of jocks that hadn’t even noticed him and had come _this close_ to squishing him into the cinderblock wall and Eddie thinks, _they hate me_.

No one, not a single student in this school, is even so much as looking at him. And yet, somehow, everyone is.

Unconsciously, the tip of Eddie’s tongue finds the roof of his mouth, just behind his two front teeth. He feels the familiar clench of his lungs shrinking to the size of a pinhole and begins to count. _Deep breath in, one, two, three, four. One, two, three, four, five, six, seven. Out, one, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight._ _They’re staring at me. No, no they’re not even looking at me, they’re not looking at me, they don’t even see me, they don’t even know I’m here at all. Deep breath in, one, two, three, four. One, two, three, four, five, six, seven. Out, one, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight. They’re laughing at me. No, no, they’re not laughing at me, they’re laughing and just because I’m here, just because I walked by, it doesn’t mean anything, it doesn’t mean they’re laughing at me, what could they be laughing at? I didn’t do anything_. _Deep breath in, one, two, three, four. One, two, three, four, five, six, seven. Out, one, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight. They hate me. No. No they can’t hate me. They don’t. They can’t. They don’t_ know _me._

_No one does._

“Hi Eddie!”

Eddie nearly jumps out of his skin at the sound of his name and stops in his tracks halfway to his locker. A smiling, husky blonde boy is standing before him, wearing a hunter green sweater, despite the unseasonably warm weather, jeans and a backpack strapped eagerly to both shoulders. His face looks vaguely familiar to Eddie, but for the life of him, he couldn’t seem to remember his name. “Oh, uh, hey. Hi. How’s it going?”

Eddie had hoped he’d be able to force this charade just a bit longer, but the boy’s smile flickers just a tad as he offers, “It’s me. Ben. From chemistry last year, remember?”

Ben. From chemistry last year. _Remember?_ And to be completely honest, no, Eddie does _not_ remember. Most of his junior year had been overshadowed by the skin-crawling memory of Kat Tozier outing his sexuality to the entire school during the pre-prom “no drinking, no drugs” assembly. He momentarily stops counting his breathing to wrack his brain for any memory of Ben from chemistry last year and comes up with a few hazy images- returning from Christmas break to have his homeroom teacher welcome a new student, glancing at him briefly just in time to take note of his bright red cheeks as he introduced himself, very, _very_ vaguely remembering that same red-cheeked boy walking through the door of Eddie’s chemistry lab and choosing a seat next to… He doesn’t remember. But someone else.

“Ben from chemistry,” Eddie nods, hoping he doesn’t appear as stupid as he feels. “Right. Sorry. It’s just, uh, it’s been, um, a long summer.”

“That’s okay.” Ben’s smile brightens again. “How _was_ your summer? I see you broke your arm; that had to put a damper on things. How’d you do that?”

“I, um, I fell.” Eddie says and before Ben can ask for elaboration, Eddie continues by doing what he does best- rambling incoherently. “But other than that, I mean, my-my summer was great. Well, not _great_ , but good, I think, I guess. I just did, you know, what everyone does, really. Sit around, read, tool around on the computer, look for… um, a summer job, ‘cause, you know, college is coming and… Well I think jobs and activities are supposed to look good on your applications and like… Well, I don’t have a ton of experience so I want to make sure I can, you know, do something about that. Not that it’s a bad thing if you _don’t_ have experience because, like, how else are you going to get any, you know? Experience, I mean. You have to just, like… Go out there and… My mom says that colleges should focus more on what a person can do for them rather than who a person is but my aunts think she’s crazy… But then again, _they’re_ pretty crazy so… I don’t know, I guess we’ll see what happens when the time comes, right? You know, it’s just like, um… Yeah, uh… But great. Good. My summer was good. It was… How was yours?”

Ben, by some strange grace of God, seems to appear as though he’d followed all of that, and he nods enthusiastically. “Good! Sounds like your summer was pretty busy! Mine was okay. We went camping towards the end and I’ve never really been one to…”

Eddie’s attention is then pulled elsewhere and he doesn’t mean to cheat Ben of his consideration but he can’t help it. His breathing has gone shallow again and his hands have begun to tremble, vibrating slightly in the pockets of his jeans. _No one is looking at you_ a piercing scream echoes throughout his brain, trying to get a hold on his anxiety, but somewhere, an even more powerful voice from deep within him shouts back, _Exactly._ His eyes wander across the hall, where the whispering redhead and her sandy-haired companion from earlier cross the treacherous waters of the hallway to join up with a tall African American boy and Richie Tozier. Eddie’s limbs suddenly feel like jelly. Why hadn’t he recognized Richie’s friends? He’s never seen without them; traveling along these hallowed halls like a wolf pack, they’re not the popular crowd- they couldn’t hope to rule the school as juniors- but everyone certainly knows who they are. People acknowledge them as they pass by.

Which, to be honest, is more than Eddie can say about himself.

_I can’t breathe._

_Yes you can, you fucking drama queen. Shut the fuck up._

_I can’t. There’s an elephant sitting on my chest and I’m breathing through a straw._

_You’re making some dumb fucking excuses and having an argument with yourself in your own fucking head, you nutcase._

_If I passed out, right here, right now…_

_If I slammed every single one of these lockers shut as hard as I could…_

_If I stood on my books like a pedestal and screamed at the top of my lungs…_

_… would anyone even notice?_

“- and my mom had forgotten the sunscreen, which is so funny because last time she brought it and it rained the whole time, but she-”

“I should get to homeroom.” Eddie interrupts and Ben stops talking, mid-sentence, his mouth snapping shut like a fish. “It was good, um, it was nice, uh… I, uh, liked, um…”

Ben’s face falls with disappointment and he nods, struggling to conceal it with a smile. “Good talking to you too. Do you want to, maybe, hang out sometime?”

Eddie, distracted, nods and then turns, heading down the hallway in search of his locker. He’s pleased to see, when he does finally reach it, that the school had repainted them; he can’t even make out the gay slur that had been spray painted in blood red at the close of the last semester (and he only had one guess as to who had done it). He wonders if it had blown over, if everyone else had arrived to school today focused on some new delicious bit of drama, if they had stopped caring about Eddie’s life, Eddie’s sexuality, _Eddie_ altogether. It’s something he decides he can live with. He carefully places his backpack on the hook just inside the door, reaches for his pencil case and a binder and a spiral notebook, and arms himself for the first day of his very last year of school with all of the people who, on the regular, fail to acknowledge his existence.

“Kaspbrak! Good to see you made it.”

Eddie closes the door to his locker, coming face to face with Stan. “Oh, um, hey Stan. It’s, uh, it’s good to see you too.”

Stan rolls his eyes as they make their way towards homeroom. “I don’t know why I expected a more thrilling response from you. Silly of me to think you’d spent your summer break learning to socialize like a regular person.”

Eddie frowns. “I spent my summer-”

“Yeah, I know. You broke your arm, you took your pills, you went to therapy.” Stan shrugs. “Do you want to hear about _my_ summer? Ugh. I shouldn’t. You’ll be way too envious of me. You’ll skip across town at the end of the day to the temple begging to convert.”

Eddie swallows but says, “How was camp?”

“ _Hebrew_ camp, Eddie. This wasn’t some jank YMCA day camp.” Stan corrects him. “And for the record, it was incredible. I mean, as always. Why would I want to sit at home in Derry when I can swim and canoe and hike and sleep under the stars with all of my favorite people?”

“I thought your dad made you go.” Eddie points out and Stan pulls a face, shaking his head.

“Are you kidding? I basically begged my parents to take me the minute school let out.” Stan says. “Every year. Same thing.”

“Oh. Well that’s… that’s cool, Stan.”

“Cool?” Stan smirks. “Damn. I already miss all of my friends. And there were so many new faces this year; I got to take them all under my wing because obviously I’ve been going since I was eight and it was just, seriously, the best time. I wish they could go to school here; all of them. I miss them so much, Eddie, you have no idea.”

“Well, you can text them, I’m sure, right? Or like… I don’t know, do people still write?”

Stan chuckles. “Just grandmas sending birthday cards. Welcome to 2018, Kaspbrak.”

“Oh… Well, I guess… I think… I don’t know, I just-”

“If only I could be with my real friends all year long.” Stan shrugs. “Instead I guess I’m stuck with you.”

Before Eddie can respond- and, honestly, luckily, because how would he even respond to something like that?- the entire hall quiets as Kat Tozier stalks through, her eyes murderous, out for blood. It’s probably just Eddie’s imagination that the sun filtering through the windows suddenly ducks behind a cloud and the air grows thicker with tension and the rest of the classmates, who normally don’t bat an eye at either of them, can’t seem to do anything but stare, now. They’re waiting for a confrontation that Eddie is trying desperately not to have; in fact, he begins to walk even faster, succeeding, he thinks, because Stan begins to jog to catch up with him. Just as they pass Kat, she sneers and snorts out a mirthless chuckle.

“Look at you.” Kat leers. “Went and found yourself a boyfriend, huh? Go ahead and hold his hand, Eddie. You’re not fooling anyone, remember? We all know your secret.”

“Boyfriend? Whoa, whoa, no.” Stan disagrees, shaking his head. “I’m barely his friend. Our dads went to school together and my mom says I should still-”

“Was anyone talking to you?” Kat addresses him and Stan falls silent. “Poor little Eddie Kaspbrak. A round peg in a square hole. You can try and hide, you can try and twist, but no matter what you do, you’ll never fit.”

She goes to walk away and Eddie says, “Well then, maybe… Maybe I’m not the one who has to change. Maybe something else should. Maybe it should be you.”

Kat goes still, whirling back around to face him. “What the fuck did you just say?”

“You… You…” Eddie stammers and notices Stan has peaced the fuck out. _Sorry bro._ His breathing comes in and out quite shakily, but he presses on. “You told everyone that I’m gay and that’s why I don’t fit in; that I’m not normal. And it’s true- I _am_ gay- but _that’s_ my normal so… Maybe I don’t have to change. Maybe you do.”

“You’re a fucking _freak_. That’s why you don’t fit in.” Kat spits back. “And you better stay the fuck out of my way this year or I’ll make you _wish_ you did.”

Spinning on her heel, she barrels through the crowd of students who’d stood by watching with wide eyes. “Show’s fucking over, assholes. Go back to blowing your dads or whatever the fuck you do in your spare time.”

Only after Eddie sinks into his desk does he realize how fast his heart is beating.

His first class is pre-calculus and he’s so focused on _not_ thinking too much about his recent encounter with Kat Tozier that he doesn’t even notice the slightest pressure on his right arm. They’re going through the course syllabus and the teacher is talking about the fancy, one hundred-dollar calculator they’re going to need for the course ( _that_ ought to go over well with his ma) when Eddie finally acknowledges the slight scratching on his cast. He glances over and notices a curtain of curly hair exploding from an unnaturally high ponytail, a tank top that barely conceals the leopard print bra this girl is wearing, and the extremely unattractive _smack-smack-smack_ of her lips as she chews gum like a cow munching cud. She blows a bubble, pink and bulbous, as she continues to Sharpie her way along Eddie’s pristine white cast and Eddie thinks, _sweet baby Jesus my mother’s going to fucking flip_.

But then-

He remembers how his therapist had talked about branching out, talking to people, making connections. _Oh, you like Batman? I like Batman! Oh, you like to read before bed? I like to read before bed? Oh, you have a mother who smothers you with medical facts even though she’s never so much as been to a doctor in her life and she forces you to down a bunch of pills for all of your illnesses that you actually don’t have and you found out from your own pharmacist that your medication is actually just a bunch of placebos and she won’t let you participate in gym class or leave the house without your inhaler- which is filled with, you guessed it, camphor water- because she doesn’t want you to have an asthma attack even though you know perfectly well that you’re not an asthmatic, you just have severe social anxiety? Well, let me tell you a story there, buddy_. His therapist had suggested asking one person, just _one_ , to sign his cast and while they were doing so, to strike up a conversation and Eddie was _guaranteed_ that there was something those two would have in common. So, maybe this was good. He never thought he’d have anything in common with, much less a conversation with, Greta Bowie, but what’s that old chestnut? Don’t judge a book by it’s-

Eddie’s eyes veer downward and glance at his cast as Greta sits up and admires her handiwork, grinning devilishly. Across the white plain of his cast, she’d written, in huge, block letters: LOSER.

“Looks better that way, doesn’t it?” Greta giggles and her gaggle of girlfriends, whom he hadn’t even noticed a moment ago, join in from beside and behind her.

Eddie pulls his arm back onto his own desk, holds it more firmly in front of him and then sets his eyes determinedly forward, not even sparing her a look the rest of the class. When the bell rings, Eddie gathers his belongings and nearly sprints to the front of the room, desperate to leave the classroom before anyone else, unwavering in his desire not to let Greta get a single word in. In his haste, the moment he steps out of the door and turns for the hallway, he collides with a body and his things go everywhere. Instantly, he’s mortified and on the ground, frantically trying to collect his books and papers and pencils and to decipher his from the other person’s, glancing up to hand those that do not belong to him _back_ to the other person, who happens to be-

Oh. Richie Tozier. Because of course it fucking is; when has Eddie _ever_ been lucky?

“Slow down there, Usain Bolt.” Richie laughs, shoving the things Eddie’s handing him back into his open backpack. “Where are you going in such a fucking hurry?”

“I just… I wanted to… I couldn’t, um, I was just…” Eddie stammers and can actually _feel_ his face flaming. Why? Just- _why_ is he so useless at conversation?

“Damn. You stutter almost as bad as Big Bill.” Richie shakes his head and when Eddie stands, brushing himself off, he asks, “You okay?”

“Yeah. I’m fine. Sorry about… that.” Eddie replies. _Wow, you managed a sentence. Way to go, moron._

“It’s cool. Next time I’ll be prepared for Speedy Gonzalez.” Richie says, adding, in what Eddie would call the worst Spanish accent he’s ever heard in his life, “ _Race you to the cafeteria for burritos, se_ _ñor_.”

Eddie stares blankly. “What?”

“Okay, admittedly, my Spanish guy needs work. Mike says I sound like the Taco Bell dog, but then I don’t think that’s really fair, because how are you gonna bring a dead dog into this? I have to sound better than that, right?” Richie shrugs. “Anyway, it’s this whole debate. I’ve been told my British guy is pretty good, but Bev was pretty smashed when she said it so I don’t know if that counts…”

Eddie continues to stare, thinking, _Holy shit, I may have found someone who rambles more than me._

“… and I don’t want to brag, but the school paper last year called my Southern accent a ‘ _brave and yet somehow entertaining rendition_ ’ so that’s-”

“You were good.” Eddie blurts out and curses his idiocy once more. “In the play. Last year. You were… You were really good.”

Richie smiles. “Oh thank ya kindly, dahling. _The Glass Menagerie_ was certainly not the highlight of my career but it seemed to be a hit with the presses.”

Nodding, Eddie agrees. “Yeah, it was… You were really good.”

“So you’ve said.” Richie smirks. “Anyway, I’m glad you ran into me because I’ve kind of been looking for you. I saw what happened with my sister in the hallway today.”

Great. Because honestly Eddie’s day couldn’t have gotten any better; let’s throw this in there, too. “You… You did? You saw that?”

“Yeah.” Richie confirms and then punches Eddie’s shoulder. “You’re a tough little asshole! I was pretty impressed.”

“You… What?” Eddie balks. “I am?”

“Course.” He shrugs. “Look, don’t let her get you down. She’s garbage and she hates herself so she takes it out on the world because she thinks everyone else should hate themselves too. It’s bullshit, but most of what comes out of Kat is bullshit. It’s always been like that.”

“Oh. Okay. Yeah.” Eddie nods, ignoring the voice from deep within. _I already_ do _hate myself, Kat. You didn’t even really have anything to do with it._

“Yeah? Cool.” Richie nods, too, satisfied. “See you around?”

“Yeah. Sure.” Eddie says. “See you around.”

He watches Richie trail away, join up with his friends, and can even faintly catch the vulgar joke he asks them in form of greeting- _hey, what do you call a masturbating cow? Beef stroganoff._ The sandy-haired one laughs heartedly and the redhead shrieks with disgust and the African American shakes his head, a fond grin on his face. Eddie wonders what in the fuck just happened and how- and _why_ \- in the fuck that _this_ is the guy he decided to go and develop a crush on.

Maybe his mother had been right. He might need that therapy session this afternoon.

It’s already been a hell of a day.

***

“Well look here,” Mike grins as Richie finally claims his usual seat beside Bev in the cafeteria. “The prodigal son _does_ exist. Got to hand it to you, Rich; I never thought you’d be late for lunch.”

“Y-Y-Yeah,” Bill, from Mike’s left side, chimes in. “Isn’t l-l-luh-lunch your f-f-fav-favorite s-s-s-suh-suh- _fuck._ Subject?”

“Spit it the fuck out, Billy,” Richie rolls his eyes. “Go thrust your dick against the post until you see the ghost of Bev’s virginity, or whatever you’re supposed to do to fix that mouth of yours.”

Bill laughs out a, “Fuck you.”

Bev, however, flips Richie off. “Leave me out of this, Trashmouth.”

“What? Ol’ Billy Boy isn’t the subject of all your wet dreams and fantasies?”

“You have to have a dick to have wet dreams, dumbass.” Bev smirks. “And even though we never had sex during our two-month-long eighth grade relationship, I’m pretty sure Bill could still tell you I don’t have one of those.”

“It was n-n-ninth g-guh-grade.” Bill corrects and Bev shrugs.

“Whatever.” She adds, “Middle schoolers are too young and too fucking dumb to date.”

“I’ll d-d-drink to th-that.” Bill beams and the two clink water bottles together, taking identical sips and chuckling.

Richie glances between the two and shakes his head. “Fucking weird, the both of you.”

“So why _are_ you late?” Mike asks, unwrapping the second half of his sandwich. “Signing up for auditions?”

“No, are you kidding? That’s the first thing I did this morning.” Richie answers. “No, apparently Mrs. Cunningham and I have different definitions of what appropriate history class behavior should look like.”

“That sounds like it came directly from her mouth.”

“Well, ‘cause it did. I’m fucking paraphrasing here.”

Mike snorts. “Did you get detention already? On the first day of school? You might be the first person in the history of the _world_ to achieve that.”

“I doubt it,” Bev shakes her head. “Wouldn’t put it past ol’ Trashmouth.”

“While your confidence in me is astounding and encouraging,” Richie deadpans. “I’ll have you know I talked myself out of it and got away with a warning!”

“Thu-Thu-This t-t-time.” Bill amends and the table’s in stitches once more.

“So speaking of inappropriate behavior,” Bev says, leaning forward, her chin in her palm. “What the fuck is up with your sister?”

“Babe, I have so many answers to that particular question,” Richie replies, smirking. “You’re going to have to cite something a little more specific.”

“The hallway this morning?” Bev elaborates. “She flipped the fuck out for no apparent reason.”

“Kat doesn’t need an apparent reason.” Richie shrugs. “She wakes up everyday thinking, _whose life can I make miserable today?_ Then she drinks a big, tall glass of bitch juice, puts on her best resting bitch face and lashes out at anyone dumb enough to stand in her way. Like a _bitch_.”

“So, that tiny senior with the fanny pack.” Bev concludes. “At least today, anyway.”

“Eddie.” Richie corrects and Bev shrugs.

“Who’s Eddie?” Mike asks, curious, and Bill pulls a face.

“That’s th-thu-the b-b-best you could come u-u-up with?” He frowns. “You u-u-usually roast her b-be-bet-better than that.”

Richie takes a bite of his apple and, through a full mouth, tells Bill, “I’m weak, Billy. Haven’t had my sustenance, yet.”

“Gross.” Mike tosses him a napkin. “Again, who’s Eddie?”

“You didn’t even hear about this?” Bev asks and Mike shakes his head. “Three years of public school and you still can’t keep up with the gossip?”

Mike holds up his hands in defense. “I don’t gossip!”

“Ugh. Michael Hanlon, you’re too pure for this world.” Bev says, lacing her fingers with his atop the table as he grins. “Anyway, I suppose us sinners will have to fill you in.”

She looks to Richie, who has begun dipping a plastic spoon into a cup of pudding. “Oh, I suppose this is where I come in?”

“You’re the biggest sinner of us all, babe.”

He swallows a mouthful and explains. “Eddie’s a senior. He’s in Kat’s class. Last year she did some thing and everyone was talking about it and she had some sort of run in with Eddie so she knew he was gay and he knew about her thing, or something, and during this thing she was going to become the school’s latest hot gossip but instead she outed Eddie to the school. So today they had this fucking ridiculous run-in but Eddie held his own like a fucking badass and so I’m probably going to hero-worship him for a solid twenty-four hours.”

All three of his friends stare blankly at him for a few moments before Mike says, “Is that… Is that just the Reader’s Digest version?”

Richie shrugs. “I don’t follow Kat’s life that closely to care what she did.”

“But still, that was an asshole move.” Bev points out. “Coming out was Eddie’s choice and she took that from him.”

“Don’t hear me complainin’, sista.”

“She didn’t out you too, did she?” Mike asks. “You were already out when I met you; I was just wondering if this was a pattern of hers.”

“R-Ruh-Richie came o-ou-out in sev-seventh grade.” Bill fills in. “Isaac Cameron’s Halloween party?”

“I still don’t know why we were invited to that.” Richie shrugs. “But I didn’t come out. I fell out… of the closet we were making out in.”

Mike laughs. “I would expect nothing less.”

“And it was all anyone could talk about for about a year. My boy’s so scandalous.” Bev says. “Until, what, ninth grade? When you kissed what’s-her-face at the _My Sister Eileen_ after party?”

“Amy Baker!” Richie provides. “How dare you.”

“I’m sorry I don’t keep a list of your hook-ups.”

“You p-p-probably could,” Bill supplies with a wry grin. “It would be a sh-sh-ort li-list.”

“Fuck off, Billiam! I’ve kissed more girls than you have!”

“You’ve kis-kissed more _guys_ th-than I ha-have.”

“And Dominique- you know Dominique, the props master?” Bev asks and Mike nods. “She goes, _I thought you kissed Isaac._ And Richie’s all, _That was two years ago. And now I’m kissing Amy_. And she’s like, _But you like guys_ and _girls?_ And Richie goes, _Yes, Dom, that’s how being bisexual works_.”

She dissolves into a fit of giggles and Richie adds, “Now _Bev’s_ paraphrasing. That didn’t sound like me at all.”

“Sorry I didn’t say fuck or dick every other word like you do.”

“How did this conversation even start?”

“I don’t kn-know. We were t-t-talking about Kat and E-E-Eddie.”

“Oh. Right.” Richie beams. “Eddie. He’s like five feet, five inches of pure, adorable gay anxiety. It’s like I want to scoop him up and put him in my pocket, but I also want to put him on a leash and a ‘ _Beware- I bite!_ ’ sign around his neck.”

Bill nods. “Kinky.”

Suddenly, a shadow looms over the table and all four of their heads lift to find Kat standing at the end of their table. “When the fuck were you planning on telling me about your auditions?”

Richie meets her eyes. “Why _hello_ to you too, dear! How’s the family?”

“Don’t play dumb with me, asshole.” Kat slams a sheet of paper onto the table in front of her brother, shaking the contents of their lunches. “You have drama auditions today? Why are they on the first day of school? That’s fucking stupid and inconvenient.”

“Well, hate to break it to you angel, but the school doesn’t run on Kat time.” Richie says. “We’re doing a difficult show this year and I guess they want to get started right away-”

“So I’m just supposed to sit around all afternoon while you prance around onstage spouting off whatever comes to your stupid fucking head?” Kat asks viciously. “At least you’re getting plenty of practice for your future of pole dancing in some gay bar for a bunch of white-haired sixty-year-olds with a venereal disease.”

Richie swallows hard and says, “You don’t have to wait for me.”

She scoffs. “And what do you suppose I do? Walk home?”

“Look, it’s not my fucking fault that you’re a seventeen-year-old drunk who can’t drive to and from school because of your extremely recent forced sobriety.” Richie shoots back. “How long have you been sober now, Kat? Three, four hours? Bravo. Take a bow.”

“You are a worthless piece of shit.” Kat leers coldly. “If I never had to see your face again, it would be too fucking soon.”

Storming away, Kat tears out of the cafeteria and bangs the door shut behind her. Richie suddenly feels nauseous. He plays around in his pudding but can’t even stomach the thought of finishing it. He doesn’t want to look at his friends; he can hear the sympathy they’re going to offer, can hear the outrage phrases of support and anger on his behalf they’ll share, but he wants none of it. He’s gotten pretty used to Kat’s abuse over his sixteen years of life. He just hasn’t ever really gotten used to the way it makes him feel. There are siblings who don’t get along all over the world, sure. Sibling rivalry is something all siblings go through and he knows it. But this… This is something different altogether. The look of pure _hatred_ in Kat’s eyes is always what lures him in. It’s that look, that icy, venomous look, that always gets him outright, but it’s her words that end up being long-lasting. _You are a worthless piece of shit_. And, like always, Richie finds himself wondering, _is she right?_

Finally, Bev places a hand on his own and says, “Rich…”

“Someone put piss instead of milk in her Cheerios this morning,” Richie shrugs it off, pastes on a smile and asks, “Have I told you the one about the rabbi, the priest and the duck?”

Sharing an uneasy look- one that doesn’t go unnoticed by Richie like they might think- his friends ease up their concern and soon, all four of them are laughing, despite the horrified noise Mike makes upon the conclusion of the joke. And yeah, it was pretty fucking raunchy- Richie will give him that. But he grins as he spots happiness on all three of his friends’ faces and thinks, _I’ve still got it, even now_.

Across the cafeteria, he spots Eddie, eating some sort of salad, sitting alone.

And though a thousand and one emotions flood to the surface upon the sight of this, the strangest of all Richie feels is the tiniest bit of envy.

***

Eddie should’ve known his mother was going to be late. She almost always is. It’s strange that she puts such an emphasis on him being prompt- _I want you outside on the school steps at 3:00 sharp or I’m going in there to find you myself_ \- when she never follows her own protocol. He doesn’t know if it’s because she’s off filling one of his innumerous and irrelevant prescriptions or if it’s because this is the week that they’re finally going to kill of Marcy (Margie? Mary? Macy?) on _The Young and the Restless_ and she couldn’t bear to step away during that kind of drama. Mostly, Eddie doesn’t care. Everyone has pretty much filtered out of the school by now. He gathers his things and heads for the library. He supposes if his mother really is going to keep up this therapist charade then he better finish his self-addressed letter that he never actually even started.

The librarian is a sweet older lady who always looks at Eddie with a sad sort of smile, like she can’t figure out why he spends so much of his time in here and not out in the real world doing normal teenage social things. He mostly doesn’t mind her pity; instead, he finds himself a nice computer towards the back of the library, near the printer, and opens a fresh Word document. The screen burns bright and he takes a moment to change his font (Times New Roman is only for writing papers, come on now) and then the cursor blinks at him as he continues to draw a complete blank. He knows what Dr. Murray wants to see- improvement. It’s the same thing Eddie wants to see except Dr. Murray thinks Eddie is capable of showing improvement and Eddie… well. He definitely doesn’t have the same confidence in himself that his therapist seems to have in him. But he gets pretty good grades in English and he can bullshit a paper like no one’s business.

He begins to type:

_Dear Eddie Kaspbrak,_

_You know what? Today was a pretty good day after all. You came to school even though you were feeling nervous. That’s a big step. You spoke to people. You made new friends. You found someone to sign your cast. You love your classes so far. Your teachers are glad to see you again and really make you feel welcome. You’re killing this senior year thing. You_

Eddie stops because he feels like he’s getting a cavity from all of this saccharine nonsense he’s typing furiously onto this document. This is exactly what Dr. Murray wants to see, Eddie knows. He wants to see growth and change and development. He wants it so that when he receives Sonia’s checks, he’ll feel as if he actually deserves them, like all his hard work paid off. But Eddie doesn’t feel any differently than he had at the beginning of the summer when his mother had made the first appointment. He doesn’t feel any less lonely, any less broken, any less _invisible_. And so this absolute bullshit letter that he’s just written? Maybe it’s what Dr. Murray wants to see, but it isn’t the truth. It isn’t how Eddie’s _really_ feeling. And isn’t that the whole point of therapy anyway? To get everything out of your fucked up head? To get all your gripes off your chest? Eddie smashes the backspace key, watching as all of the happy, sappy _lies_ are wiped from the screen and he’s left with a tabula rasa.

_Dear Eddie Kaspbrak,_

_I don’t care what you say- this year is going to suck. It’s not going to be like the movies- parties and college admissions essays and tearful goodbyes- because what parties would I even get invited to? What colleges would even consider accepting me? What goodbyes do I even have to say? And it’s not like I don’t already know that all of this is bullshit and life isn’t like the movies. It’s proven to me time and time again, everyday at school, everyday at home._

_It’s weird that the only reason I feel like there’s any kind of hope for me is Richie isn’t it? I can’t even talk to him like a normal person. In fact, I can’t even talk to him at all. It’s stupid and I’m stupid and I know that sometimes, even he’s stupid, too. But if I could just talk to him… Maybe if I could just talk to him things would be okay or they could get better. Or maybe not. He doesn’t know me at all and I don’t know him, either. Maybe nothing would be different. Maybe he wouldn’t even give me the time of day._

_I wish that things could be different. I wish for just one moment that someone would reach out, extend a hand, notice the empty, gaping hole in my heart and offer some words of encouragement to fill it. I just want to know that someone’s there, but no one’s ever there. I want to be a part of something- anything- just like everyone else, but I can’t find a way in. I feel like I’m invisible, like I’m drowning on dry land, and even when I scream, no one hears a sound. I mean, face it, if I vanished tomorrow, would anyone even notice I was gone?_

_Sincerely your best- and only- friend,_

_Me_

Before he can think otherwise, he hits print.

“Loser?”

Eddie glances up and, a few computers away from him, sits Kat, eyeing his cast’s brand new signature with a questioning look and a frown. “Who wrote that?”

“Oh, it’s- it was no one.” Eddie shrugs. “Just Greta Bowie. I don’t know why she did it. I guess, uh, I guess she just thought she was being funny.”

“How is that funny? Defacing someone’s cast with some pathetic, elementary school-level name-calling?” Kat rolls her eyes. “Greta’s such a pathetic fucking bitch, Eddie. Don’t be friends with her.”

“I’m not.” Eddie shakes his head. “I’m not, I mean, I’m not really friends with anyone.”

“Right.” Kat sighs. “Well, I guess… Same here.”

She hits print on her computer too and then stands, crosses the short distance between them, and sinks into the chair beside him, glancing over the rest of the surface of his cast. “How’d you break it?”

“I fell, kind of, well… kind of off of a cliff.” Eddie replies, almost not trusting his own voice to speak. _What the hell is going on here and why is Kat talking to me?_ “Not like, not like a _real_ cliff, or anything. Just one of the ones at the quarry.”

“The quarry?” She pulls a face. “Didn’t know anyone still went down there.”

“Well, no one really does.” Eddie says. “I just go there sometimes to, you know… escape my mom.”

“Yeah, I get that. Mine can be a real bitch sometimes, too.” Kat replies. “So how come no one else signed it? I mean, before Greta defaced it, obviously.”

“That, I guess, kind of goes back to the whole ‘no friends’ thing.” Eddie tells her and she nods. “But it’s okay, I don’t really care, anyway and-”

“I’ll sign it.” Kat offers, producing a red Sharpie from the pocket of her jeans. “I mean, you need something to cover that god-awful bullshit Greta gave you.”

“You would do that?”

“‘Course. Why not?”

“Um…” Eddie trails off, unsure of what to say in response. _So many different answers, so little time_. “Well we’re not exactly- I mean, we’ve never really been… I always thought you-”

She begins to scribble something and, without looking at him, says, “I shouldn’t have done what I did. Last year. I was… It was a really fucked up thing to do.”

“It’s okay.” Eddie says because he doesn’t know what else to say. She’s really knocking him for six, here.

“It’s not.” She shakes her head. “And for the record, I don’t give a shit if you’re gay. It’s not like I’m homophobic; my brother’s bi. And no one else seemed to care, either, so… But still. That was fucked and I… I shouldn’t have.”

She leans back to admire her handiwork and Eddie almost smiles. Over the S in ‘loser’ she had drawn a loud, outrageous V, making the more visible word ‘lover.’ Beneath it, she’d looped her name in an uncharacteristically girly scrawl. She bites her lip and asks, “This kind of makes it look like we’re a _thing_ now, doesn’t it?”

“No.” Eddie shakes his head. “No, I don’t think so? But, I don’t know, maybe-”

“It’s okay.” Kat assures him. “I know I’m not your type.”

She stands and heads for the printer and Eddie is still admiring his newest addition when she storms back over to him, her face pulled tight with anger. “What the _fuck_ is this?”

And Eddie has no clue, has no idea what has changed the strange air between them so quickly, and so he stammers, “I, uh, I don’t know, I just… You went and… I don’t-”

“‘ _The only reason I feel like there’s any kind of hope for me is Richie_ ’,” Kat reads aloud. “Are you talking about my _brother?_ ”

And this is when Eddie realizes exactly what the fuck this is. “That’s not… I mean, no, I didn’t-”

“You didn’t _what?_ ” Kat snarls. “Don’t tell me this isn’t yours! It’s addressed _Dear Eddie Kaspbrak_. That’s you, isn’t it? Who else would write this?”

“No, I mean, I wrote it, it’s not, it’s just not…” Eddie’s breathing is coming in quick gasps as his heart slams against his ribcage. “It’s not what you think-”

“What I think is that you wrote this thing about your weird little crush on my brother,” Kat spits out. “And then printed it so I could find it, right? Because you knew I was in here with you, right? You knew it and you wanted to enact your sick revenge from last year!”

“No, no, that’s not it at all, I…” Eddie’s speaking so fast now he’s not sure he’s making any sense at all. “No, it’s not, it’s really not what you think, I mean it’s a stupid assignment for my… for my… It’s some stupid thing they’re making me write and that isn’t… It’s not even the one I wanted to print but it’s just…”

Kat shakes her head and stuffs the letter into her pocket. “Fuck you.”

“No, wait, no!” Eddie calls after her as she races out of the library. “No wait! I need that back! Please, just give the letter back!”

He tries to follow, he tries so _desperately_ hard to catch up with her, but by the time he reaches the doors to the library and bursts through, she’s nowhere to be found. He utters a final, “Please!” into the empty halls and all else is silent.

The rest of the day goes by in a cacophony of lights, sounds and voices, but Eddie can’t focus on a single one.

“Dude, you’re fucked.”

“I know.” Eddie groans, the light from his laptop screen the only thing illuminating his bedroom. It’s a little after midnight- much later than he’d normally FaceTime Stan, but his mother hovered around Eddie’s bedroom until well after eleven worrying he was ill, so desperate times called for desperate measures and all that. “What do I do?”

“Hold on.” Stan yawns. “Just back up, first. Why are you writing letters to yourself? Is this some weird self-help Dr. Phil bullshit your mom found on TV?”

“No, it’s just… It was an assignment.” Eddie says. “Not anything… important. But still. She has it and… and I don’t know what she’s going to do with it.”

Again, Stan yawns, and Eddie can’t tell if it’s from exhaustion or boredom. “And why are you asking me about this?”

Yep. Boredom. Cool. “Stan, you know I… I wouldn’t ask if it wasn’t important, just- I don’t have anyone else, okay?”

“Oh my god.” Stan sighs. “Look, she’s going to definitely destroy you with this. So I don’t know if you expected me to give you some sunshiny positive attitude, but you came to the wrong guy.”

Eddie exhales heavily, covering his face with his hands. “What if she shows it to other people?”

“She’s _definitely_ going to show other people.”

“What if she shows it to _Richie_?”

“Why would she do that? Don’t they hate each other?”

“Well yeah but I sort of… It was stupid, I know, but I…”

“You mentioned Richie in this letter? What the fuck, Eddie?”

“I know! But I didn’t think she’d ever see it! I didn’t think _he’d_ ever see it!” Eddie maintains. “Oh my god. I’m dead. I’m dead! She’s going to fucking kill me. This is the end. I should just make final arrangements now, shouldn’t I?”

“You should just calm down for a second, how about that?” Stan suggests. “Okay, obviously you’re freaking out, I’m sorry. Just… What can you do about it?”

“That’s what I called _you_ for, Stanley!”

“Okay, okay!” Stan sighs. “Maybe you can call her or text her or something? Do you have her number?”

“Why would I have her number? I don’t have anyone’s number!”

“Okay, well… _I_ don’t have her number, but Tommy from my econ class does, I think- he mentioned something about working with Kat last year on a book report? I don’t remember but maybe I can get it for you?”

“I can’t do that!” Eddie exclaims. “What would I even say?”

Stan considers this. “Fair point.”

“ _Ugh!_ ”

“No, no, maybe… Maybe you can just ask her to give it back, plain and simple.” Stan supplies. “Ask her if you can have it back and just tell the truth. Tell her it’s a project for your psych care-”

“She’ll think I’m crazy!”

“No, she won’t think you’re crazy. That’s terribly insensitive of you.” Stan rolls his eyes. “Therapy benefits thousands of people, Eddie. She’ll understand. And even if she does think that, I don’t see what that has to do with-”

“I can’t.” Eddie disagrees. “I can’t tell her the truth. It’ll only give her more ammunition. She’ll decimate me!”

“Okay, well…” Stan thinks and then produces, “Maybe you can talk to Richie? Maybe he can help you out?”

“And how… in what _universe_ … Stan, that would never work.”

“Eddie, you called me for a solution and I gave you plenty of options!”

“Your options suck!”

“Then I’m going to bed.” He replies. “Goodnight. Let me know what you decide. Or don’t. I have no dogs in this fight.”

“No, wait! Stan!”

The screen goes dark and the call ends. Eddie lets out a cry of frustration and slams his laptop shut in retaliation. He climbs back into bed and runs an exhausted hand over his face, waiting for sleep to come. It never does. Instead, he spends the night tossing and turning, wracked with anxiety and nerves. He can’t even begin to think of what Kat might do to him; if last year was any indication, he is likely going to lose what little self-confidence he has left. Around four a.m., Eddie wonders what Richie will think. Eddie hadn’t written anything _too_ terribly incriminating; it’s not like he professed his undying attraction to Richie, or anything. But mentioning him at all had really been the kicker and Eddie’s pretty sure Richie would be extremely freaked out to learn how much hope and faith Eddie puts in him daily. By six a.m., Eddie is still wide-awake. He watches the sunrise, dresses for school and leaves the house ready to serve his sentence. No one looks at him any differently at school, which is normal and he’s pretty much used to this. But he waits, all day long, for Kat to confront him and tear him down. He waits for his bitter end.

It never comes. And Kat doesn’t come to school for the next three days.

On the fourth day, a Friday, the last day of his first week back, Eddie wakes feeling refreshed, as he’d finally gotten a full night of sleep despite the situation not yet being resolved. With each passing day, Eddie’s anxiety had lessened; the more time that has passed, the more Eddie believes this will all blow over and he might be able to fly under the radar and survive his senior year without fail. No one pays him any mind as he passes through the hallway on the way to his locker, no one so much as glances his way when he gathers his belongings and heads to homeroom and no one even looks up as he crosses through the aisles of desks to find his assigned seat. That storm-fueled bowling ball in the pit of his stomach has eased, loosened, cleared up and he’s feeling cautiously optimistic, because things seem to have returned back to normal.

Of course, then he’s called to the principal’s office.

He’s never been in here before; it’s a silly, stupid thing to think when he’s panicking and wondering _why the fuck_ he could possibly be called here, but it’s the first thing that comes to his mind when he knocks on the door and the kind-looking secretary leads him into Principal Draper’s office. But all of _those_ thoughts are gone pretty instantly when he sees what’s behind door number one. Principal Draper, for one, is not; instead, the room is darkened, solemn, as if they reserved this room solely for the purpose of crying. And sitting in three chairs on the other side of his desk are Richie Tozier and two adults that Eddie assumes are his parents. _Wentworth and Margaret_ , Eddie suddenly remembers and he has no fucking _clue_ why he knows this. _They go by Went and Maggie_. Derry’s a small town, he supposes, or maybe he just paid too much attention when Kat did her family tree back in elementary school. Maybe he’s just nosy or maybe he has a good memory. Maybe it’s a strange combination of all three.

Went and Maggie glance up when Eddie enters and the secretary closes the door behind her, leaving them to their privacy, but Richie doesn’t; his gaze remains firmly fixed on the floor. Eddie clears his throat and says, “Hi. Is, um… Is Principal Draper coming back?”

Went’s eyes slide towards Maggie, whose own are red-rimmed and filled with unshed tears. Eddie realizes their confusion and explains, “They asked me to come to the principal’s office, so I was just-”

“Oh.” Went’s voice quiet but hard around the edges. “You’re Eddie, then. Would you please sit? We’d like to talk to you.”

Eddie does so, sinking into Principal Draper’s chair, his legs shaking. Already, he can feel his throat start to shrink to the size of a pinhole and his fingers ache with the desire to grasp his inhaler. _This is it_ , he thinks. _They know about the letter. They know because Kat told Richie. Richie knows and he’s freaked out and he told his parents and that’s why they’re here. Kat told everyone and the Toziers want a restraining order now. I’m getting kicked out of school because I can’t be around either of them anymore_. Over his racing mind fraught with a million thoughts, Eddie somehow manages, “Okay.”

“I’m sure you probably guessed that we’re Kat and Richie’s parents.” Went says, his voice a bit steadier but not at all any softer. “We wanted to… Well, _Kat_ wanted you to… Maggie, give him the letter.”

Maggie, who has produced a small, folded sheet of paper from the confines of her purse, turns to him almost dazedly. “What?”

“The letter, Maggie. Give him the letter.” He sighs, impatient. “That’s why we’re here.”

Hurt, Maggie thrusts the sheet in Eddie’s direction, spitting back, “What do you think I’m doing? I’m doing what I can.”

“Is that what I said?”

Eddie glances between the two as the terse, tense silence kicks in. Maggie breaks eye contact first, turning to Eddie as he begins to unfold the letter. “Kat, she… She wanted you to have this.”

Horrified, Eddie reads his own painful, agonizing words and is filled with a mass of confusion. “Kat… gave you this letter?”

It’s Maggie who utters a cry at Eddie’s question, but Eddie finds himself glancing at Richie. He still hasn’t moved a muscle and his eyes have yet to lift from the floor. Went clears his throat and says, “We didn’t know, Eddie. You have to understand we didn’t know. We didn’t know you, we didn’t know you and Kat were friends-”

“Friends?” Eddie interrupts, incredulous.

“Kat never told us she had _any_ friends.” Maggie sniffles. “But that’s you, isn’t it? The letter is addressed _Dear Eddie Kaspbrak_. We didn’t know she had anyone to talk to, to confide in…”

Glancing up at each of them, Eddie realizes he may be confused, yes, but it pales in comparison to the Toziers’ confusion. _They think she wrote it_ , Eddie balks. _They think Kat wrote this letter to me_. He feels dizzy and lightheaded and possibly like he’s going to throw up. This has all blown way out of proportion, but they keep speaking, keep listing all of these things they hadn’t know about their daughter and her best, dearest friend, Eddie Kaspbrak, and somehow, Eddie can’t make himself speak. His mouth is dry; his tongue feels like sandpaper, like it weighs a thousand pounds. He can feel himself falling down the rabbit hole with every word they speak, desperate to believe that their daughter had someone to believe in when they couldn’t be what she needed. He feels trapped, frozen, so incredibly shell-shocked, that he doesn’t know if there will ever be something to bring him back to reality.

Except-

“We wanted you to have this.” Went says and Maggie shakes her head.

“No, _she_ wanted you to have this. It’s right there, at the top of the letter.” Maggie corrects him furiously. “She wanted you to know how important you were to her. She didn’t address her last words to anyone but you.”

“Her last words?” Eddie gasps, partially from shock, partially from his nearing panic attack. “What do you mean? What are you saying?”

From beside his mother, Richie inhales a deep breath, but still remains silent and motionless, eyes stuck on the floor. Maggie covers her mouth, choking back a sob, and Went frowns, saying, “This letter is what we found with Kat. She, um… Kat committed suicide.”

And there it is. The truth.

At that moment, Eddie stops breathing.


	2. Two

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! So sorry it took me so long to get this update out but as always, real life got in the way. Thank you all so incredibly much for your fantastic feedback on the first chapter! I couldn't have asked for a better response. I urge those of you to listen to the Dear Evan Hansen soundtrack if you haven't already because you'll fall in love with it, too. Hit up iTunes- you know you're going to want to buy it. :P

Two

_“I fucking hate you and I hope you know it."_

It’s hard to care. It’s hard to focus on anything right now when that’s playing on a 24-hour loop in the forefront of his brain.

He’s sitting in the principal’s office beside his parents, and he’s been here far too many times to count, but he doesn’t hear any of the words coming out of his mother’s mouth. He doesn’t hear a single thing his father tells Eddie.

He hears only this:

_“I fucking hate you and I hope you know it.”_

It’s not the first time she’d ever said something along those lines to him, but it was the last.

He’d come home from school yesterday to find Kat sitting on her bed, staring at some random sheet of paper like it held the answer to all of life’s greatest questions. He must’ve paused in her doorway for too long, for she noticed his staring, glared and growled at him to _leave her the fuck alone_ , and then pounced for her bedroom door, slamming it in his face. Rolling his eyes, Richie had retreated to his own bedroom and to close out the outside world, flopping onto his bed and turning on whichever CD he’d had closest to him. He’s probably the only person on the planet who still has CDs; Bill teased Richie for it every time he was here. _Have you never heard of an iPod? Pandora? Spotify? Even fucking YouTube?_ Of course, Richie thought terribly, making himself laugh, when Bill says it, there’s a whole lot more stuttering involved.

Usually, Richie blasted his music at top notch, playing it absurdly loudly in order to drown out whatever screaming match his parents were having with Kat. That night, however, was different. The house was eerily quiet; his father was working late and Richie really didn’t know where his mother had gotten to, but Iron Maiden didn’t have to work nearly as hard tonight to be heard. Richie pulled his script out of his backpack, completely bypassing his homework, and grinned upon the sight of it. He remembered reading _The Crucible_ the previous year in English class and loving how fucked up and infuriating the story had been and kudos, he thought, to the public high school for wanting to take on such a challenge in drama this year. He was, of course, playing John Proctor and he couldn’t _wait_ to dive right into the character. He got about as far as act one, scene one, the very first page, when there was an angry, hammering knock on his bedroom door.

“Will you turn down the goddamned music, Richie? I can’t fucking hear myself _think!_ ”

“Didn’t know you did that.” Richie shouted back and turned the music even louder. “Don’t you usually just do whatever the hell you want and sort out the consequences later?”

“What the fuck is wrong with you? Just turn the music down!”

Richie’s only response was to turn it up as high as it could go and he turned the page in his script. “What’s that?”

“ _Turn the fucking music down, you prick!_ ”

“I’m sorry, I can’t hear you.” Richie yelled, focusing his attention back on Tituba and Parris. “You can fuck off now.”

“I fucking hate you and I hope you know it.”

“Back atcha, sista.”

And that’s it. Those were the last words he and his sister ever spoke to each other. Those are the last vivid memories Richie has of last night, anyway. Everything else just comes in small glimpses. He’d texted his parents and gotten a “ _Heat up some leftovers :)”_ reply from his mother and a “ _Won’t be back until after 7_ ” message from his father. He’d gone downstairs and made a bowl of Easy Mac because if he could avoid eating his mother’s lasagna, then that’s exactly what he was going to do. He’d burnt the first bowl because he hadn’t put enough water in. After choking down the powdery cheese concoction, Richie had gone back to his bedroom, cranked an old AC/DC CD his father had gifted him and promptly fell asleep.

He’d awoken about an hour, maybe an hour and a half, later to his mother’s scream.

It was piercing, bloodcurdling, as if someone had run her through with a broad sword. Richie’s eyes flew open and for a moment, he didn’t know where he was. _I was caught in the middle of a railroad track_ , the stereo screams and Richie scrambles to shut it off, _Thunderstruck_ and AC/DC be damned. His mother hadn’t screamed since, but he didn’t want to miss it if she did. From there it felt like everything was happening in poised, practiced frames; the sour taste in his mouth from falling asleep without first brushing his teeth, the new-book, fresh paper smell of his script, now lying abandoned on the floor by his backpack, the sky outside that had somehow gone from day to night in the matter of seconds. But his mother’s scream had cut through it all and, instantly on edge, Richie raced to find her.

He didn’t have to travel far.

Maggie had been crouched on the floor of Kat’s room, her legs bent at an awkward angle as if someone had struck her there. Richie could just barely make her out; his father was in the doorway, his face ashen. Richie had no _fucking_ clue what was going on, but something… Something in the way his mother was screaming her sobs, the way she was sitting as if she’d fallen like a puppet with its strings cut, the look on Went’s face when he turned to find his son there… Something had the hair on the back of Richie’s neck stand on end.

“Richie, call 911.” His father had shouted at him and Richie had just stood there, paralyzed, frozen in place. “Call 911, Richie! Now! Call 911!”

And that’s what he did. He called 911 and he raced out of the house to direct the ambulance because their house was on a cul-de-sac and people got confused all the time and he accepted the blanket one of the paramedics draped over his shoulders after it was all over.

_It’s for shock_ , she’d explained to him and Richie thought that was appropriate. He’d never felt so numb in all his life.

And that was that. The rest was a blur.

Until now.

Now, he’s watching a kid hyperventilate over the news. At the first strangled, choked noise Eddie had made, Richie’s eyes had flown upwards and now, they’re as wide as saucers. Eddie’s eyes are watering and his mouth is open, moving, but he makes no sound. Neither of his parents bats an eye; they’re both concerned with themselves right now, not each other, and nothing- and no one- else. It’s clear they assume Eddie’s reaction stems from grief but Richie’s pretty confused and moderately worried. He hadn’t thought his sister had had any friends, least of all the person she’d tortured almost as much as she’d tortured Richie, but look at Eddie now. He’s damn near having an asthma attack over the news.

Richie leans forward, suddenly anxious, and places a hand on Eddie’s knee. “Are you okay?”

Eddie gasps for breath but waves his hand in Richie’s direction, pawing at his waist for something- oh. Right. His fanny pack. Richie resists the urge to laugh- seriously? They still _make_ those?- and instead keeps his focus on Eddie’s pale complexion. He watches carefully as Eddie fumbles inside his fanny pack, produces a small, baby blue inhaler, sticks it between his lips and pulls the trigger. Relief instantly floods his face and color comes back to the apples of his cheeks. Richie removes his hand shakily, his eyes on the boy in front of him despite the distraught looks on both his parents’ faces. _Holy fuck that was terrifying_ , he thinks as Eddie pockets the inhaler once more, producing a small smile of thanks for Richie, who hadn’t done a thing but stare.

_Holy fuck_ , he thinks now. _He is too goddamned adorable._

***

On the list of the most traumatizing, gut-wrenchingly humiliating moments of his life, having a full on panic attack in front of Richie Tozier and his parents just skyrocketed to number fucking one.

Eddie is still trying to get his breathing under control- and desperately trying to avoid Richie’s eyes and the deep worry he sees in them- when Wentworth speaks, asking, “Are you alright? I understand this is quite the shock. It has been for all of us.”

Maggie, in agreement with her husband, sniffles and glances down at her clasped hands. Eddie is at a loss for words; what can he say? What can he possibly say to the parents of a girl he never knew and never liked? A girl who had taken her own life with his words in her pocket? It looks awful; it looks so supremely awful and even the truth won’t put Went and Maggie at ease, Eddie knows.

But is that a reason not to tell it?

“It’s not- It’s not that.” Eddie stutters, stammers, trips over his own tongue. “Kat didn’t write that letter. I know it… I know it looks that way. It seems that way, I know, but-”

“We found it in her pocket.” Maggie utters quietly. “It’s addressed to you.”

“If she didn’t write this to you…” Went shakes his head, confused. “Who else could’ve written it?”

“We didn’t… We weren’t… It wasn’t like that.” Eddie says. “I know that it must look- Kat didn’t write the letter but…”

“I think he’s in shock.” Went murmurs to Maggie who nods, solemn.

“I think we all are.”

Richie sighs heavily and when Eddie finally chances a glance at him, he notes, a bit disappointed, that Richie’s gaze has resettled onto the floor. “Mr. and Mrs. Tozier…”

“Honey, you can… You can call me Maggie.” Maggie insists. “She didn’t even tell me. I didn’t know. If I knew… You were her best friend.”

A sob escapes her lips and she covers her mouth with her hand, tears cascading down the contours of her cheeks. Went exhales heavily and Richie lifts a shaky, awkward hand to his mother’s shoulder. It’s too much. It’s all too much. Eddie has to get out of here. He feels like he’s intruding on their grief. He doesn’t belong here. Suddenly, he stands, saying, “If-If the letter… You should keep the letter, Mrs.- Maggie. You should keep the letter if it brings you comfort. If it helps you. But I… I shouldn’t be here. I should go. I need to go. I _have_ to go, I mean… I-I have class and I really… I really should go. I’m sorry. I’m so, _so_ sorry about Kat and about the letter and I just… I’m really, really sorry…”

“Went.” Maggie speaks softly, effectively ending Eddie’s ramblings. “Look.”

Eddie glances down, searching for the source of her sudden closure, and finds it. There, looped over Greta’s scrawl, is Kat’s name in her signature red Sharpie, all girlish and positive. It aches; _everything_ aches and he suddenly feels hot and cold all over, like he’s come down with a rapid case of the flu. All three of the Toziers are staring him down now, and Eddie can see the one thing in Maggie’s eyes that he would never dare to squash.

Hope.

He opens his mouth to speak but only after realizes he has nothing to say. “I…”

“Eddie,” Maggie says his name so carefully, as if it were porcelain tumbling from her mouth. “Oh honey, I want… I _have_ to know. I want to know _everything_.”

“Come to our house for dinner tonight.” Went offers. “Please. We would love for you to come. We can talk more and… We’d love to hear more about your and Kat’s special relationship.”

Powerless to deny them, Eddie agrees.

Of course, Stan thinks he’s fucked.

“I think you’re _fucked_.” He says on their walk to lunch that afternoon. “Seriously, what good could come from this?”

“I don’t know.” Eddie moans, slamming his locker shut and clutching his brown paper bag closely to him territorially. “I didn’t know what to say. I just stood there, panicking, and… I didn’t know what to say.”

“Um, how about the truth?” Stan smirks. “You wouldn’t last a _minute_ in a court room. The lawyer could present evidence you didn’t create and still convince you that you had. You’d end up confessing to murder, probably, if it meant someone wouldn’t be disappointed in you!”

“I couldn’t tell them the truth!” Eddie shoots back. “Not after… Stan, you didn’t _see_ them! You didn’t see how upset they were!”

“I’m sure they’re upset.” Stan agrees. “And you didn’t really help with that, did you?”

“No, I would’ve made it worse!” Eddie says. “If I had told them I was the one who wrote that letter, then what happens? They lose the tiny bit of hope they had that their daughter had someone in this world? Why would I do that? And if I had, then they have to ask the inevitable question- why did she have this letter I was writing for therapy? There’s more truth to spill and suddenly they’re realizing that their daughter, the one they just _lost_ , wasn’t who they thought she was and I can’t be the person that makes them realize that. I _can’t_ , Stanley! I mean, Jesus, you should’ve heard the way Maggie was sobbing-”

“I’m sorry, _Maggie?_ ” Stan questions, mildly amused. “Now you’re on a first-name basis with them?”

“She… She told me I could call her Maggie.” Eddie admits and Stan bites his lip.

“Why?”

“Because… Because I was- Well, she _thinks_ I was Kat’s best friend, I guess. Is that- I don’t know, is that what friends call their best friend’s mom?”

Stan frowns. “Oh shit, Eddie, you are in _way_ over your head, here.”

“I know but… This is all they have left of her. _I’m_ all they have left of her.” Eddie sighs. “And I can’t tell them it’s all a lie. I can’t do that to them. They’re going through enough right now and I just… I just want to help. Please just… What do I do?”

Stan thinks for a bit and Eddie is sure he is going to turn him down. They round the corner, heading down the hallway towards the cafeteria and Eddie is ready to fight Stan for his help when Stan says, “You’ll just have to go along with anything they say.”

Eddie balks. “What?”

“You said they invited you over for dinner tonight?” Stan asks and when Eddie nods in confirmation, Stan repeats himself. “Well, then, you’ll have to go along with anything they say. They say Kat loved painting her toenails, you tell them a nice little story of that time she tried to do yours too and you let her even though it turned out terrible and pink is not your color. They say Kat was allergic to peanuts, you tell them about that scary Halloween party when she ate a Snickers bar thinking it was a Three Musketeers. They say Kat didn’t know where she wanted to go to school, you start listing places _you’re_ thinking of going, because you guys didn’t want to end up too far away from one another. Get it?”

Eddie swallows hard. “Yeah, I… Yeah. I guess so.”

“And honestly, it’s easy enough to create a fake friendship.” Stan goes on. “If we backdate some emails and fabricate some texts, we can create a nice secret friendship between you and Kat.”

“Wait,” Eddie pauses. “Why does it have to be secret?”

“Eddie,” Stan chuckles. “You can’t go around to everyone in our class and convince them to go along with this lie. The fact is, no one ever saw the two of you hang out; no one ever even saw you two interact, outside of last year’s unfortunate incident and the one that just happened a few days ago on the first day of school. And, needless to say, neither of those occasions were incredibly positive- I mean, _I_ certainly wouldn’t think you two were the best of friends after that…”

“Okay, okay, you’ve made your point.” Eddie grumbles. “Secret friendship. And what do I tell the Toziers when they ask why we couldn’t make our friendship public?”

Stan shrugs. “You two run in separate crowds. The school thought of her as this dark, depressing, angry cloud and you didn’t want to be associated with that. And she didn’t want to be associated with you either because you’re so…”

“I’m so _what?_ ”

“I wasn’t going to say anything bad, calm down.” Stan insists. “You’re so anxious and tightly wound that it wouldn’t have made sense for someone like her to befriend you.”

“So… If our friendship makes no sense…” Eddie trails off. “Then how do I make them believe it?”

“Well, this was your idea.” Stan says. “So I guess you’ll have to figure that out.”

Eddie frowns, but something else catches his eye before he can reply. Just outside the cafeteria, Ben is sitting behind a card table, a banner draped over the front reading, _In Loving Memory of Katherine Elizabeth Tozier_. He’s speaking with a student who looks incredibly uninterested and Eddie turns to Stan to remark, “I didn’t know her middle name was Elizabeth.”

Stan snorts. “Don’t tell the Toziers that.”

“Hi Eddie. Stan.” Ben greets the two of them as they approach, his voice glum. “You’ve heard the news, haven’t you?”

“Of course we have, it’s terrible.” Stan replies. “Word on the street is that that’s what our afternoon assembly is for later on.”

“Yeah, that’s what I’ve been told.” Ben nods. “I wanted to get a jump on it. Start working on something to keep Kat and her family in everyone’s thoughts and prayers.”

“That’s… That’s really nice of you.” Eddie says. “I didn’t know you knew her.”

“Oh yeah. I mean, we weren’t friends. We weren’t close.” Ben explains. “But I’m pretty sure she was in my English class last year. No, she was. I remember her Gatsby presentation. It’s just so sad.”

“It is. It’s scary to think…” Stan trails off, shuddering. He claps Eddie on the shoulder. “Well, no one’s more shaken by the news than Kat’s best friend, here.”

Ben’s eyes go wide and immediately Eddie shoots Stan a _what the fuck are you doing?_ look. “Her best friend? She never said anything. Eddie I’m… I’m really sorry.”

“Thanks.” Eddie says, a strange feeling pooling in the pit of his stomach. “It was… It’s been hard.”

“I’m, uh, making a list.” Ben tells him, indicating towards the sheet of loose leaf paper on the table in front of him, bearing only one name- his. “I made a sign-up sheet for people who want to be part of a grief and support group to discuss the tragedy. No questions asked, judgment free zone… if you want to join.”

“Thank you.” Eddie finds himself saying but can’t bring himself to pick up the pencil.

Ben notices this, Eddie can see, but instead of calling him out, he says, “Oh, I also started a fund. I’m trying to collect donations to send to the Toziers for Kat’s funeral expenses. It’s not like we’ll be able to cover all of it but it would be something, right, if they didn’t have to pay every cent. I just want them to know the student body cares.”

Both Stan and Eddie peer into the jar to find Ben’s big donations- a dollar and thirty-five cents. They both look up at Ben, who sheepishly admits, “I added the dollar because I thought I’d start us all off. And… Well, I found the change on the bus this morning. But it’s a start and it’s better than nothing, right?”

“Right.” Eddie agrees, feeling incredibly sorry for him all of a sudden. He wishes his mother allowed him to bring money to school.

“Yeah, um…” Ben says. “This is all really sad. So if you want or need someone to talk to, Eddie, you can always talk to me. Or join the support group I’m starting.”

“Thank you.”

“We’re going to head to lunch.” Stan says. “But good luck, you know? Good luck raising money and I hope people join your group.”

“Oh, I’m confident they will.” Ben nods, though his voice betrays him a bit. “Grief brings people closer and in a tragedy like this, we need to stand together, not divide.”

“Of course.”

“And Eddie,” Ben calls after them as they depart. “I’m sorry again for your loss. Let me know if you want to collaborate to do something in honor of Kat, okay? I would love to.”

Eddie nods, shooting him a rough-looking smile- it comes out as more of a grimace- and he and Stan step through the doors of the cafeteria, where everyone seems much quieter than normal. Or is it only his imagination? Eddie feels like a completely different person than the one who had come to school this morning; he wouldn’t put it past the entire student body to have changed in the blink of an eye.

Stan, all business-like, tells him they’ll be in touch and splits, departing for his own lunch table as Eddie finds his almost immediately. It’s in the back corner of the cafeteria. It’s where he sits, alone.

He doesn’t have an appetite. He stares at his tuna salad sandwich, his carrot sticks, his apple, and the churning in his stomach grows worse.

Instead, Eddie allows his attention to circle the cafeteria and, inevitably, his eyes fall upon the drama table, where Richie is noticeably absent from his very solemn-looking group of friends.

***

Eddie’s heart is in his throat as he steps onto the Toziers’ porch that evening and rings the doorbell. Honestly, he can think of a thousand and one other places he would much rather be than here. His stomach feels as though he’d swallowed a bowling ball; his mouth is dry and his breathing is coming in quick gasps. He’s not sure he’s going to be able to pull this off. Is it too late, he wonders, to call the whole thing off? Tell the truth? Confess to the lie before it grows and consumes him? A cautiously optimistic Maggie Tozier answers the door and Eddie sighs with a resounding _yes_. She nods and steps back so Eddie can cross the threshold and his first thought is that it smells _amazing_ in here. The second is that he’d never been here before- _obviously_ ; he never thought he’d ever get the chance- and the third is that it’s so dark and gloomy and not at all what he expected a loving family home to look like.

Then again, he’s only assuming they’re a loving family, isn’t he? He doesn’t really know any of them at all.

Instantly, he’s filled with shame and regret. How dare he expect a warm, friendly atmosphere. This poor family is going through the roughest time of their lives, the greatest tragedy they never expected, every family’s worst nightmare… The pit in Eddie’s stomach grows larger and even though Maggie leads him into the kitchen, where Went and Richie are waiting, even though everything looks and smells incredible… Eddie’s appetite is completely gone and he’s not sure he’ll be able to stomach a single bite.

“You aren’t a vegetarian, are you?” Maggie suddenly asks as they sit before a dinner of pot roast, mashed potatoes and green beans. “I should’ve asked before I cooked. If you are, I can… I’m sure there’s something around here. I could make something else.”

“No.” Eddie is quick to shake his head, quick to reassure her, and she relaxes visibly. “This looks great. Really. It smells so good.”

“Truthfully, the Harts from down the street made it. Brought it over this morning.” Maggie admits, glancing at her plate. “I guess they heard about… Well, it seems like everyone knows now and you know how people like to bring food when…”

“Mom.” Richie starts but Maggie waves a hand and pours herself a fresh glass of wine.

“Well, it’ll get cold. Dig in, please.”

And he tries; _really_ , he does. He manages to eat about half of the meat that Maggie had served him, a quarter of the potatoes and perhaps a few green beans. It’s more than Maggie, who hasn’t had a single bite of food, but is on her third glass of wine at this time and it’s certainly more than Richie, who’s just pushing mashed potatoes back and forth on his plate, raking his fork through like a makeshift Zen garden. Eddie, who spends more time watching Richie than he’d care to admit, is so used to the effortless grin on Richie’s face, the hand that comes up to push his mop of curls away from his eyes as he laughs, likely telling a sometimes funny but usually just inappropriate joke. Now… Well, Eddie hasn’t ever seen Richie this quiet or solemn. To be honest, it’s kind of breaking his heart.

Went, who’s the only one eating, asks, “Anyone care for seconds?”

“Seems like you’re the only one who can stomach a bite, Wentworth, so you tell me.” Maggie replies coolly. “I’ll pass.”

She reaches for the neck of the wine bottle as he wonders, a bit shortly, “Don’t you think you’ve had enough?”

“Who are _you_ to decide when _I’ve_ had enough?”

“Seriously?” Richie frowns unhappily. “You guys have to do this now?”

Eddie would love for the kitchen floor to open up and swallow him whole. He’s never been good in arguments and he feels _especially_ awkward because he doesn’t know either of them very well. Maggie _has_ been drinking like it’s going out of style, but then again why _is_ Went eating like it’s just another day, like his only daughter hasn’t just _died_?

He hopes no one asks him for his opinion.

“Was dinner okay?” Maggie asks, looking at Eddie expectantly. “I hope you don’t mind steak and potatoes; mashed potatoes were… It was Kat’s favorite food.”

_Go along with anything they say_.

“Yeah, I remember.” Eddie nods, hoping Stan would be proud. “She always said, um… She said Thanksgiving was her favorite holiday because of the mashed potatoes. She said she’d sit there and eat a whole plate of them.”

At this, Richie’s eyes lift to meet his and for a moment, Eddie can’t breathe. “Kat hated Thanksgiving.”

Eddie swallows past the baseball in his throat. “W-What?”

“Kat hated Thanksgiving.” Richie repeats accusatorily. “She hated hanging out with family and the forced merriment and she fucking _hated_ that goddamned parade.”

_Fuck. Shit. Fuck. Abort. Abort!_

“Richard.” Maggie scolds but Richie stares hard at Eddie, as if challenging him.

Eddie nods. “Yeah. She hated it. She hated all of that. But she said- she said that the potatoes… the potatoes were worth enduring all of that- what did she say? Um… worth enduring all that other bullshit.”

At this, Richie cracks a smile.

_Dear God, I must’ve said something right._

Eddie smiles right back.

“So…” Richie hesitates, as if he doesn’t know how to ask what he wants, and the idea is strange to Eddie. He’s always gotten the impression that Richie just says whatever, whenever. “If you were so close, how come she treated you like shit at school?”

Eddie sighs. He was waiting for that one. “Well… She didn’t want people to know we were friends. You know how the school is with people… You know, people like me.”

Richie nods understandingly. “Losers?”

Maggie gasps. “Richard!”

“No, no, it’s okay. Really.” Eddie assures her. “I was going to say freaks or… Or people who are gay, but loser works too. Says so on my cast and everything.”

If possible, Richie’s smile grows even _wider_.

“Oh. You’re gay.” Maggie remarks. “Honey, I didn’t… We didn’t know.”

“Oh. Um. Yeah.” Eddie suddenly stammers, losing his temporary cool. “I um, I’m… That’s not, like, a problem for you, is it? Because, I mean, well… I was just… I was, um-”

He stops rambling incoherently when Richie snorts into his glass of water. Oh. Right. These are _Richie’s_ parents, not just Kat’s. If they’re cool with their son being bi, chances are pretty high they’re not going to care that their daughter’s best friend is gay.

“No, no, sweetheart, of course not. I just…” Maggie trails off, and looks to Went for help. He’s just taken another bite and she rolls her eyes in response. “Kat definitely had her… _issues_ with it. That’s all. That’s the only reason I was surprised."

Went swallows, clears his throat, and adds, “And she wasn’t exactly nice about it, either.”

“Well, she wasn’t nice about _anything_.” Richie puts in. “So I don’t know why you’re trying to sugarcoat it.”

“Richard.” His father says. “I’m warning you.”

“It’s okay. Our friendship was kind of complicated.” Eddie explains. “You know, because she’s, well, she… was complicated.”

“She wasn’t _complicated_ ,” Richie disagrees, throwing air quotes around the word. “She was a complete and total _bitch_.”

“ _Richard!_ ” Went shouts now as Maggie chokes out a wounded gasp. “I swear to God, if you don’t have some goddamned tact for one _second_!”

“She didn’t! She never did!” Richie spits back. “She never let a goddamned second go by without saying something nasty to or about someone, did she?”

“You can never let any of the bad stuff go, can you?” Maggie asks, shaking her head, tears in her eyes. “Why not just focus on the good?”

“The good? What good?!” Richie asks, furious. “Where was there any good? I must’ve fucking missed it!”

And Eddie, desperate to stop it all, says, helplessly, “She was good to me.”

Neither Maggie nor Went speak a word; Richie, however, stares at Eddie, incredulous. He breaks the sudden silence, his anger cooling, “She told the whole school you were gay. You didn’t; _she_ did. And people treated you like shit because of it. Because of _her_.”

Eddie clears his throat, suddenly hot in the collar. It’s the truth- he _knows_ it’s the truth- but he hadn’t been aware that Richie knew. Sure, for most of the second half of his junior year, he’d been teased mercilessly by his classmates, but he knew the upperclassmen hadn’t given a single shit about him and he’d always assumed that the freshmen and sophomores hadn’t even known he existed. Richie, now, is telling him this is quite the opposite; that he’d known- that he’d _cared_.

Under better circumstances, Eddie knows this little tidbit of information would have made his entire week.

Something glimmers inside him, now, and he can’t quite place a finger on it, but all three of the Toziers are looking at him, awaiting an explanation.

The moment he inhales, the moment his lips part, the moment he finds the words as they tumble freely, carelessly, from his mouth, Eddie thinks, _there’s no turning back now._

“She told someone untrustworthy. Kat did, I mean.” Eddie says. “I guess she didn’t realize I wasn’t out yet and she must’ve let it slip or she said something that gave it away, I don’t know. But she told someone that she assumed already knew and one thing led to another… She felt bad. She felt really, _really_ bad and she begged me to forgive her, she said she thought she’d lose me as a friend and she couldn’t- she couldn’t bear that, but I told her… I told her that she wouldn’t, that she _couldn’t_ , because she was all I had and I was all she had and… well, people make mistakes, and…”

When he stops rambling, he realizes all three of them are staring at him with deep, intrigued interest. Maggie urges him to go on and Eddie can’t help himself. He’s already in too deep. “We sent each other emails, back and forth, so no one would know we were talking and, you know… We’d hang out and stuff, too; on weekends, over the summer… We used to have this spot we’d escape to. It was, well it _is_ , an old rock quarry off of Lake Kenduskeag-”

“The quarry?” Richie asks, his voice breathless.

Maggie gasps. “Oh, you and Kat used to play there all the time! Remember? Castle Tozier?”

“ _Fort_ Tozier.” Richie corrects her. “Castles are for princesses and dragons and shit.”

“Yeah, she told me all about that.” Eddie nods. “She really loved reminiscing about all those crazy things you two used to do.”

“She held my head underwater until I passed out, once.” Richie frowns. “Crazy, huh?”

Eddie falters a bit as Maggie chastises another, “Richie.”

“Well… um… We would hang out there.” Eddie starts again and tries to ignore the feeling in his stomach. “Find a spot out of the sun and just talk about anything. Everything, really. I remember this one day- this past summer, actually. It must’ve been… I don’t know. Early June? Maybe the first or second week. She told me she was having a rough day and asked if we could go to our spot. So I said yes, obviously. I told her I would drive because… she didn’t, well, I guess she couldn’t… I don’t know. She never really ever wanted to talk about that.”

Went frowns, Maggie purses her lips and Richie pulls a face but says nothing. Eddie takes this as his cue to go on. “But she got in my car and rolled all the windows down and let her hair out of her ponytail. And I drove us out there and I parked underneath that tree- you know, the one that’s shaped like a question mark? That was our spot. That was our _favorite_ spot. _When the sun hits it just right_ , Kat said, _it’ll cast the shadow over both the driver and the passenger seat so neither of us burns our asses on your leather seats_. I asked her how she could be sure but she always just _knew_ shit like that.”

He colors instantly and claps a hand to his mouth. “Oh, God, I’m so sorry. _Stuff_. I swear when I’m nervous I guess, I just…”

“It’s okay.” Went assures him, chuckling the tiniest bit. “We’ve heard far worse from Richie, believe me.”

Richie smiles, too. “Thank you!”

“Anyway, um… She was talking about stuff she wanted to do when she graduated this year.” Eddie continues. “She liked animals- she always said they were better and more interesting than people- and really wanted to work towards being a vet or a zoologist. But she said she had to… You know, she wanted to work on being sober. And I told her of course she could do that, _of course_ she could, and that I supported her. I told her I’d be there for her and I’d help her through it and all that. Because the thing is… It’s a crutch. It’s an addiction. And she hated it but needed it at the same time. But she always said she hated the person alcohol made her become. And I said that if she worked toward being sober, no matter how difficult it was going to be, then… she’d never be that person ever again.”

Tears fill Maggie’s eyes and Went clears his throat, uncomfortable. Richie remains silent; Richie only stares. Eddie inhales a deep breath and finds, suddenly, that he can’t _stop_ talking. “She kind of hugged me, then, because she said she was there for me, too; that I was the only one she felt like she could talk to and I said me too. I always felt that way. She was always there for me. She was the first one to know I was gay and… she never judged me. She was helping me build the confidence to tell everyone and… and to tell my mom, which I still haven’t done. It’s like… It’s like now that she’s gone… I don’t know. I can’t do it. Something’s holding me back.”

“But then, it started to get really, really hot.” Eddie says. “I mean, super hot, and my shorts were sticking to my sweaty legs and Kat pulled her hair back into a ponytail, asking if I’d go swimming with her, and I said yes. Neither of us brought bathing suits and when I pointed this out, she just laughed and stripped off her dress until she was in just her bra and underwear. I remember because she made a joke about not having to worry about me looking at her for too long, because she wasn’t my type. So… I took off my shirt and followed her. We were going to jump off the lower part of the quarry and it scared me, to be honest- like everything somehow does- but… I just knew everything would be okay. We raced toward the cliff, but she was faster, she was always faster, and maybe I was just a little too close to the edge. I slipped. I tripped over a rock and suddenly… I was going over the edge.”

“There was a small patch of land, a chunk of rock that stuck out from the cliff, about halfway down and that’s where I landed, _hard_ , on my arm.” Eddie finishes. “I didn’t feel anything; I think my arm was numb, but I heard it break. I looked at it, saw how swollen and disfigured it was already, and then looked around wondering how I would ever get out of this… And I glanced up at the edge of the cliff where Kat was hanging over and then down, at the rest of my fall if I hadn’t landed where I did… and I realized I probably would’ve died. I would’ve… but then Kat was there and she helped me climb back to the top and… She drove me to the hospital. She waited with me until a doctor could see me. She tried to help take my mind off of the pain…”

“And it was okay. I was right.” Eddie smiles. “Everything was okay.”

Went is silent.

Richie is staring at Eddie with wide, open eyes.

But Maggie stands, pulling Eddie out of his chair, and hugs him _hard._ “Thank you. _Thank you_.”

He hugs back just as tightly and wonders if this is what true motherly affection feels like.

He’s never experienced it before.

***

_Dear Eddie Kaspbrak,_

_We haven’t spoken in forever and I miss you like crazy. Life has been so wild lately and I have so many things to tell you. This has all been so thrilling, hasn’t it? It’s like having a secret boyfriend. And I know you don’t like me like that, but I swear, Eddie, if you weren’t gay, I’d climb you like a tree._

“What the _fuck?_ ” Eddie exclaims. “Why would you write that?”

“What?” Stan smirks innocently, his fingers pausing over Eddie’s laptop. “You don’t think her parents thought you two were secretly dating until you told them you were gay?”

“It doesn’t matter what they thought. Kat _knew_ I was gay; I told them that she was the first person I told.” Eddie explains. “And you don’t sound like a seventeen-year-old girl.”

“Well, I’m going to take _that_ as a compliment.” Stan grins and when Eddie groans, he chuckles. “What? I’m just messing with you!”

“Well, don’t! I need this to be perfect!” Eddie insists. “It has to sound like it’s actually her sending this to me. I told them we emailed back and forth-”

“Which was your first mistake.” Stan points out. “Emails are for professional matters and grandparents who just got their first computer, not teenagers in 2018.”

“- and I promised Maggie I’d print a few and show her-”

“Which was your _second_ mistake.” Stan adds. “Because now you’ve dug yourself a giant hole you can’t possibly fill.”

“I’m in way over my head here.”

“Uh, yeah. I told you that. Twice.”

Eddie growls with frustration. “Just give me the laptop. I’ll do it.”

_I’ve been going through so much turmoil_ -

“ _Turmoil?_ ” Stan reads over Eddie’s shoulder, snorting. “When in the fuck do people _ever_ use that word in conversation?”

_I’ve been going through so much nonsense_ -

“That’s worse than turmoil!” Stan chuckles. “You’ve just turned her into a 50s housewife.”

_I’ve been going through so much bullshit_ -

“Satisfied?” Eddie spits back and Stan shrugs.

“At least it sounds like her.”

- _with school and my family and other things_ -

“Oh, _so_ specific.” Stan comments. “I thought you were good friends?”

Eddie frowns. “Shut up.”

- _that I’ve really needed you these past couple of days. My family… I don’t know. I like them. They’re good_ -

“They’re _good?_ ” Stan asks. “Who the fuck says their family is ‘ _good_ ’?”

Eddie groans, hitting backspace furiously. “I don’t know what the fuck I’m doing!”

“Clearly!”

_-My family… I love them, but they don’t understand me. They don’t understand why I turn to the bottle_ -

“Oh sweet baby Jesus, Eddie.” Stan groans. “This isn’t a Lifetime documentary. You can’t fucking type like one.”

_-My drinking doesn’t make sense to them and sometimes, it doesn’t even make sense to me. Sometimes I wonder if I could just stop getting smacked_ -

“Getting _smacked?_ ”

- _getting inebriated_ -

“Oh, what’s up, SAT word that no one uses in day to day life.”

- _getting LIT_

“Why did you type it in all caps?” Stan laughs so hard he falls off of Eddie’s bed. “Oh god, I wasn’t prepared for this ab workout today.”

Eddie stops typing to glare at Stan and suddenly, he spins around in his desk chair and thrusts the open laptop in his direction. “Then _you_ fix it!”

“Gladly.”

- _getting wasted if everything would be okay. I tried taking your advice and I guess I’m just still working on it. If I take it one day at a time and just focus on doing one nice thing for one person, I think, slowly, I’ll be able to get myself together. It’s going to take some time and some patience but if you believe in me, then how bad can I be? All I want is to be the person you know I can be. I’m getting there. Please don’t give up on me._

_Sincerely,_

_Me_

“There.” Stan nods, pleased with himself, and hands the laptop back to Eddie. “Are we done now?”

“Stan that’s…” Eddie trails off, reading through the email a second and then a third time. “That’s really good.”

He looks a bit taken aback by the praise but soon shrugs as if it’s no big thing. “Guess I have a knack for creative writing.”

“I knew I asked the right person.” Eddie says. “But, no, we’re not done yet. I can’t just give them this. I said we emailed back and forth all the time; they’re going to expect more than just one email.”

“Oh my god.” Stan frowns. “Are we going to be doing this all night? Because I’ve got things to do, Eddie; things other than backdating some emails and pretending to be Richie Tozier’s sister.”

“I have to prove to them that I was a good friend to Kat because that’s what I said I was.” Eddie insists. “I have to respond.”

_Dear Kat Tozier,_

_I, too, have missed corresponding with you_ -

“Wow, no.” Stan immediately shakes his head. “She’s not your business associate, she’s your best friend. You can’t start an email like that.”

“Well…” Eddie bites his lip. “How do friends talk to each other?”

“Oh my _god_.” Stan exhales. “I don’t even know how to answer that question, Eddie. It’s too sad.”

“Pathetic sad or cry me a river sad?” Eddie asks and then shakes his head. “Never mind, I don’t want to know. Look, I don’t have friends and you know this, so maybe spare me the teasing or sarcastic comment or whatever the fuck you were going to say and help me out.”

Stan frowns. “I wasn’t going to tease you. You’ve been teased enough; you don’t need it from me too.”

“Thanks.” Eddie says, his voice small.

Stan instructs, “Loosen your word structure. Use slang. Contractions help, too; they’re more informal. Talk to her like you’re talking to your diary, assuming you have one.”

Eddie scoffs. “I don’t. _I’m_ not a seventeen-year-old girl.”

“Okay, well then… Talk to her like you’re talking to yourself.” Stan shrugs. “Because… well, you _are_.”

_Dear Kat Tozier,_

_I miss talking to you, too and you’re right- it has been way too long. We have to promise each other to not let that much time get away from us next time. I’m glad you sent this- it does sound like you’re struggling, but you’re right: you’ll get through this._

“There!” Stan exclaims excitedly. “That’s _so_ much better. Doesn’t that feel kind of natural?”

“Yeah!” Eddie beams, his confidence boosting. “Yeah, that feels good. It sounds good!”

_Quitting alcohol will be hard but I know you can do it. You’ll just have to get your mind off of it. Try reading a book or doing a puzzle._

“See, now you ruined it.” Stan shakes his head. “First of all, ‘quitting alcohol’? What the fuck, Eddie?”

“I don’t know!”

“Second, _getting your mind off of it_?” Stan rolls his eyes. “That’s not how alcoholism works.”

“I’ll fix it!”

_I’m sending you some pictures of the coolest rocks I found_ -

“Rocks?” Stan implores, his eyes wide. “No one cares about fucking _rocks!_ ”

_I’ll include my classification guide so you can learn a little too! I found them all at the quarry- you’re going to absolutely love them._

“The fuck she won’t.”

_You’re already getting better because the first step toward recovery is admitting you need and want help, right? I’m proud of you! Keep working at this and I’ll be with you every step of the way. You don’t ever have to worry about me giving up on you. I never would._

_Sincerely,_

_Me_

Eddie grins, satisfied, and Stan pulls a face before making grabby hands for the laptop and adding:

_P.S.- Your brother is hot and I want to suck his dick. You think you could set that up?_

“ _Stanley!_ ” Eddie shrieks, hitting backspace so furiously he erases half the email. “What the _fuck?_ ”

“Oh, my mistake.” Stan smirks. “I thought that’s what you were thinking.”

“You can’t…! You can’t just…! Don’t just…!”

“Come on, she’s your best friend and doesn’t know about your crush on her brother?” Stan asks. “Sounds like bullshit to me.”

Suddenly, there’s a knock on the door and Eddie scrambles to slam his laptop closed as Sonia pokes her head into the room. “Sweetie, everything okay? I heard a scream.”

“Everything’s fine, ma.” Eddie assures her. “We were just… just watching a scary movie, that’s all.”

Sonia purses her lips in Stan’s direction as a form of greeting and then says, “You shouldn’t be watching that sort of thing. Those violent images are so bad for your poor brain, Eddie, and things like that can alter your heart rate and you don’t want to have to go back to the emergency room so soon, do you?”

“It’s fine. I turned it off.” Eddie frowns. “It’s not a big deal.”

“Still. I worry about you, honey.” Sonia says. “The school emailed me about a student in your class who passed away. Katherine Tozier. Did you know her?”

“No.”

“Did you talk to her? Have any of the same classes? Were you friends?”

“ _No_.” Eddie insists, wondering why his mother is giving him the third degree, as if she’s somehow afraid that suicide is contagious.

“Oh. Well, alright.” Sonia makes an unhappy face. “Such a terrible, terrible thing. I wouldn’t wish that on _anyone_. Her parents must be so distraught. I mean the thought of losing you, honey, is just…”

She trails off and her eyes become fixated on one focal point: Eddie’s cast. He and Stan seem to realize it at the same point and share a semi-panicked glance. “Eddie… What’s that on your arm?”

“Oh, it’s nothing. I know you said not to let anyone sign it but…” He tries desperately to come up with a better excuse than _I just wasn’t paying attention_. “This girl asked if she could and I didn’t know she was going to write what she did. She just kind of-”

“Kat.” His mother reads and Eddie’s mouth snaps shut. “Who’s Kat?”

“Nothing- it-it’s no one.”

“Could that be short for _Katherine_?” Sonia wonders aloud. “Katherine Tozier?”

“No. No, it’s not, it’s…” Eddie thinks fast. “It said Kate. Her pen was wearing out and I guess the E faded already. Kate’s a girl in my physics class. Just my lab partner- it’s not… It’s nothing.”

“Okay…” Sonia says warily, clearly not appeased, but moderately convinced. “Well, I guess I’ll just… get started on supper.”

“Bye ma.” Eddie pushes, nodding as she glances back at him one final time. “Everything’s fine, really.”

She frowns in Stan’s direction and says, “No later than six, Stanley. You know the rules.”

“Wouldn’t dream of breaking them, Mrs. K.” He holds up scout’s honor and she narrows her eyes before she closes the bedroom door behind her. They wait to hear her footsteps on the stairs before Stan adds, “She’s a fucking bloodhound.”

“Yeah.” Eddie sighs. “You have no idea.”

***

This is easily about to be the worst day of Richie Tozier’s young life.

First of all, he can’t fucking breathe. The last time he wore this suit was to his cousin’s wedding two years ago and it’s tight around the neck and in the chest and short on all his limbs, because he’s grown at least a foot and a half since then. His hair, which is in its best state _unruly_ , is completely out of control today; he’d tried combing it right after his shower which usually works but today it had only separated his mass of curls and created a cloud of frizz that he’d never seen before. He’s wearing brand new shoes his mother insisted upon and they’re squeaky and slippery; he’d almost fallen down the stairs twice this morning and he’s been sliding all over the floor ever since they’d arrived. He doesn’t even know why he’s bothering to look nice because if Kat were here, all she’d do is turn up her nose in disgust and call him a disgusting piece of shit anyway.

But, he supposes that’s the point. Kat _isn’t_ here.

It’s just Richie, now.

Richie and his parents, that is; Wentworth, who hasn’t shed a single tear since Kat’s death, and Maggie, who can’t seem to stop.

When Richie was five years old and Kat was six, Went and Maggie had dressed them up in matching Christmas plaid and had taken them to the mall to meet Santa Claus. Richie, being the ever impatient kindergartener he was, had whined about waiting in line because it seemed to carry on _forever_ , but Maggie had held his hand and patiently reassured him that it would be worth it, that he would get a chance to tell Santa what he really wanted for Christmas. Kat had of course told him that because he’d been so rotten all year long he’d be getting a big lump of coal and nothing else and then she’d laughed to near hysterics when this thought made Richie burst into tears. By the time they reached Santa- and _of course_ Kat got to go first- Richie’s tears had long since dried but he hadn’t thought of anything he wanted for Christmas yet. In a panic, Richie approached Santa somewhat hesitantly and thought about the kinds of things other kids might ask for. It made Richie think. Kat was constantly knocking over his Lincoln Log creations that took him _hours_ to build. She had gone through his Tonka truck collection and pulled all the wheels off. Once, she’d taken a box of his brand-new Legos and filled it with water and then stuck it in the freezer. In fact, there probably wasn’t a single toy that Richie owned that Kat hadn’t found a way to destroy.

Santa had grinned at Richie when he managed to climb onto his lap. “Hi there, buddy. What’s your name?”

“Richie.” He’d replied, still wracking his brain for the best answer to the world’s seemingly most difficult question.

“Ah ha, Richie. It seems like you’ve made my nice list this year!” Santa replied. “So, what is it you’d like me to bring you for Christmas?”

Richie had glanced at his parents, who grinned encouragingly, and then at Kat, who was sucking on a candy cane Santa’s elves had given her. “You don’t have to bring me anything.”

“I don’t?” Santa had chuckled and his parents glanced at one another in confusion. “Are you sure?”

“Yup.” Richie had beamed. “But can you take away my sister?”

And that was the very first time Richie wished for his sister to disappear. It hadn’t been the last.

Here he is, eleven years later, getting his wish.

He and his parents are sitting at the very front of the church. Strangely enough, it’s completely packed, wall-to-wall, and every pew is filled with mourners. There are even a few handfuls of people standing towards the back. It’s certainly not what he expected; he wonders how many of these people had actually known Kat and how many of them had just shown up because they wanted to _look_ like they cared, because they wanted to _feel_ important, because they wanted to be a part of this tragedy even if it had nothing to do with them. Richie refuses to give any of them the satisfaction of his attention. His gaze, throughout the entire service, remains where it has this past week- on the floor.

It’s a closed casket, thank _God_. Richie’s not sure he could take staring into his sister’s waxy face all morning. Went sits beside him, his arm around Maggie, and his head is bowed and he doesn’t speak a word, but he nods solemnly every now and then. Richie’s mother is _hysterical_ ; he’s pretty sure he’s never seen her cry this much or this hard ever before in his life. And Richie? Well… Richie’s just uncomfortable. This suit is cutting off his oxygen supply and the shoes are starting to rub the outsides of his feet completely raw and the pew is so hard it’s making his ass hurt. He can’t sit still in one place for too long; he begins to grow agitated and it’s a welcome feeling, honestly, because he’s been numb for so long. He doesn’t know what he’s supposed to be feeling right now. Grief? Anger? Hurt? He doesn’t feel any of those things.

It’s hard to mourn someone who made your life a living hell.

It’s hard to mourn someone who told you on the daily how worthless and disgusting you were.

It’s hard to mourn someone whose last words to you were: _I fucking hate you and I hope you know it._

He’s not glad she’s gone; really, Richie isn’t _that_ much of an asshole. It’s not like the moment he’d realized she was never coming back he did a Mexican hat dance on her grave or anything. But he isn’t exactly broken up over the news, either. He doesn’t really feel much of anything at all. And he knows how wrong this is; hell, he should probably be somewhere in between his mother’s incessant weeping and his father’s cold, stoic grief. But he can’t; something’s holding him back. It’s like every time he gets to the point where he _might_ just be feeling the tiniest bit of sadness, he remembers the time Kat had gotten so drunk she’d vomited on Maggie’s brand new couch and then used Richie’s favorite flannel shirt to clean it up, or he remembers how she hadn’t waited for him after the first day of kindergarten and he’d ended up on the wrong bus home because of it, halfway across town, or perhaps the night he’d finally worked up the courage to tell his parents he was bisexual over dinner and before he could even say a word, Kat had laughed, “Wait, don’t tell me- you’re fucking gay, aren’t you?”

Yeah. So he’s not exactly sad. In fact, he’s pretty far from it, because how in the world is he supposed to mourn a person like that?

He and his parents come to stand by the casket when the service is over to accept condolences. Richie fidgets and squirms uncomfortably, but does as he’s asked. Maggie’s sobs have quieted but tears still stain her cheeks and fill her eyes. Went ends up shaking everyone’s hand and offering them a curt nod as if he were closing a business deal and Richie continues to pull at his sleeves and his collar as if he could make this suit fit using only his mind. Bev, Mike and Bill appear next and Richie’s never been so glad to see his friends in all his life. They offer their condolences to Maggie and Went before pulling Richie into a bear hug. (“Don’t let them see,” Bev whispers in Richie’s ear as she slips something into his pocket. He feels around and grins; cigarettes. This is why Bev is Richie’s main bitch.) Richie makes them promise they’re coming back to his place and Bill tells him they wouldn’t go anywhere else (“We’ve got booze waiting.” Mike adds and Bill nods, grinning mischievously. “For, you know, whenever you can spring free from your parents.”). It’s the best he’s felt all week and his smile starts to fade when they depart the church.

His attention is soon pulled elsewhere. Towards the back, in one of the very last rows, is Eddie, standing and making his way forward with a curly-headed guy Richie has never seen before. Dressed in a clean-cut suit- that _fits_ him- and hair neatly combed and styled, Richie has to admit he blends right in… with the exception of the look of fear in his eyes. He looks so out of place and so uncomfortable that Richie almost laughs before he remembers where he is. At least the two of them have that in common. By the time Eddie and his friend reach them, Maggie has been nearly exhausted with mourners. She collects Eddie in a tight embrace and thanks him for coming before Went claps him on the back and shakes his hand, too. He introduces his friend Stan and politely, Richie’s parents accept his condolences, too.

Richie suddenly wonders if Eddie’s “friend” Stan is actually his “boyfriend” Stan.

Of course, then he wonders why the fuck he cares. It’s not like it matters at all.

“Hey Richie.” Eddie approaches him last and his voice wavers just a tad. “I’m sorry. I’m really sorry.”

“Thanks.” Richie says because he’s trained well and this is not his first time. “I’m, uh, I’m sorry for you, too.”

Eddie nods. “Are you doing okay?”

“Peachy keen, jellybean.” Richie shoots him with finger guns and then asks, “You coming over later?”

“Um, yeah, I… Your mom invited me.” Eddie says. “I brought the um… Well, I have the emails. The ones Kat and I… She wanted to read them.”

“Right.” Richie sighs. “Well, then I guess I’ll see you later.”

“Oh yeah, um… Yeah.” He stammers a bit, his eyes fixed on the closed casket behind the Toziers.

Richie follows his gaze and asks, “First funeral, huh?”

And Eddie half smirks, asking, “How can you tell?”

“You can always spot the newbies.” Richie shrugs. “Don’t worry, the worst part’s over.”

“It’s just so… insane.” Eddie shakes his head. “I mean, one minute she was here and the next…”

“This was her choice, Eddie.” Richie points out. “Don’t act like it’s some Greek tragedy.”

Eddie’s eyes pull back to rest on him. “You don’t think it’s sad?”

“Which part?” Richie asks, turning to look at his parents, who’ve started to turn away. “Destroying my mother or decimating my father? Yeah, I think it’s sad she would do that to her own parents.”

“I guess…” Eddie trails off. “I mean, I guess she felt like she didn’t have any other choice.”

Richie shakes his head. “There’s always another choice. She just made the wrong one. She always did.”

Eddie’s quiet a moment before remarking, “Wow.”

“Wow what?”

“You’re angry. You’re _really_ angry.”

“What, I don’t get to be angry?” Richie wonders. “Everyone’s asking how my parents are holding up. I’ve got people dropping by and calling my house 24/7 now asking if there’s something they can do for them, asking how they’re doing, asking if they want to talk… No one asks about ol’ Trashmouth Tozier, do they?”

“I did.” Eddie points out. “I wasn’t just asking for the hell of it. I really wanted to know.”

Richie smiles, just a tad. “You swore in church.”

Eddie shrugs. “I’m not very religious.”

They both seem to notice at the same time that the line of mourners has ended and they’re the only ones remaining inside the church. Even Stan has up and left them behind. Eddie clears his throat and says, “I’ll, um… I’ll see you later, Richie.”

“Yeah.” Richie agrees. “See ya.”

“Oh, and by the way…” Eddie pauses at the doorway. “Yes, you do.”

“I do what?”

“You _do_ get to be angry.” Eddie replies. “It’s a natural stage of grief. You can be as pissed off as you want and no one can say anything about it.”

As he goes, Richie calls after him, “Good, because I’m fucking furious!”

Eddie’s laughter echoes throughout the hall.

***

His living room is full of a bunch of people he doesn’t even know. There’s some extended family that he usually only sees on Thanksgiving and Christmas, but for the most part it’s a bunch of bullshitters who are trying to make his family tragedy _their_ tragedy. Richie’s not exactly surprised to see Principal Draper or Kat’s history teacher from the year prior- he knows Draper’s just here to keep up appearances, to make it look as though he cares about each individual student, and Richie’s always had a theory that the reason Kat did so well in history (seriously, it was the only class she got an A in, what the fuck?) was because she was blowing her teacher after school. He doesn’t have any proof, really, but the guy does look pretty broken up about Kat’s passing, so maybe there’s something there?

The after-funeral get together lasts way longer than Richie was expecting. He’d immediately changed out of his awful suit and into jeans and a t-shirt the moment he’d gotten home, but he’s still sitting here trying to make small talk with a bunch of people who clearly hadn’t known his sister. There is _so_ much food lining the kitchen table and all of the countertops and really this is just an excuse for people to sit and eat and grieve together, right? Except Richie still hasn’t quite decided how he feels about all of this. He wants to be upset; in fact, he knows he _should_ be upset. But mostly… Mostly, he’s just irritated. It makes absolutely zero sense to him why everyone here is trying to pretend like Kat’s absence from their lives isn’t going to be the biggest fucking break ever, like she was some goddamned _saint_ , when in reality, if Richie went around now and asked each of these people to present him with one positive memory of Kat, he’s fairly confident he wouldn’t get a single one.

The crowd thins out around six. Bev and Bill and Mike leave shortly thereafter, making plans to meet up at the Barrens later that evening and Richie is so desperate to leave his family, he’s quick to agree. In fact, he spends the remainder of the late afternoon figuring out a way he can get there sooner. He’s so lost in thought that soon, it’s only Eddie and his parents left in the living room and the sky has darkened into an omniscient black. Eddie has pulled something out of his backpack and Maggie wipes at her eyes, clearing her throat. “Rich, come see what Eddie brought. Come read them with us.”

“Read what?” Richie replies, feeling himself growing more and more agitated. It’s been nearly a week since Kat’s passing and he’s tired of keeping his feelings inside.

It won’t take much, now. Sooner or later, he’s going to burst.

“I brought the emails, remember?” Eddie says. “The ones, um… The ones Kat and I wrote to each other. Well, some of them, I mean, we’ve been talking for a while and…”

“Oh joy.” Richie frowns. “The Life and Times of Katherine E. Tozier. The E, as you all know, stands for _extremely hateful bitch_.”

“Richard, for God’s sake.” Went chastises. “ _Today_ , of all days?”

“Why the fuck should the day matter? That doesn’t change-!”

“Richie. _Please_.” Maggie pleads with him, clutching the first email in her shaking hands. “Will you please just… just…?”

“Just read it, Maggie.” Went urges her. “You’ve been talking about this all week. Don’t worry about Rich, just… just read it.”

Maggie clears her throat a second time. “ _Dear Eddie Kaspbrak, we haven’t spoken in forever and I miss you like crazy. Life has been so wild lately and I have so many things to tell you. I’ve been going through so much bullshit with school and my family and other things that I’ve really needed you these past couple of days. My family… I love them but they don’t understand me. My drinking doesn’t make sense to them and sometimes, it doesn’t even make sense to me. Sometimes I wonder if I could just stop getting wasted if everything would be okay. I tried taking your advice and I guess I’m just still working on it. If I take it one day at a time and just focus on doing one nice thing for one person, I think, slowly, I’ll be able to get myself together. It’s going to take some time and some patience but if you believe in me, then how bad can I be? All I want is to be the person you know I can be. I’m getting there. Please don’t give up on me. Sincerely, me_.”

Richie pulls a face the moment his mother stops speaking. Went’s face hardens and Maggie takes a few deep breaths as Eddie asks, “What’s wrong? Is everything…?”

“It’s just hard.” Maggie nods, sniffling. “It’s just really difficult to read this. It doesn’t sound like her.”

Eddie almost balks. “Oh, I mean, I… It was, um…”

“This just isn’t the Kat we saw, I suppose.” Maggie says. “I’m glad she had someone to talk to about these things, it’s just… Why couldn’t it have been me?”

Eddie frowns and appears as though he doesn’t have an answer for this one. “I’m sorry. I mean, if… If it helps, we did talk pretty often and…”

“Do you have more?” Maggie asks. “Emails, I mean?”

“Yeah, uh, yeah. Yes. Plenty more.”

“We’d love to read them. All of them.” Maggie nods rapidly, looking to Went. “Wouldn’t we?”

Went sighs. “I guess.”

“You _guess?_ ”

“I don’t see how this is going to help.” Went replies. “I don’t see how reading her private thoughts and feelings and conversations with her best friend is going to help us move on.”

“We’re not _moving on!_ ” Maggie shrieks. “I don’t want to move on! I want to grieve! I want to mourn! I want… You haven’t even been able to set foot in her bedroom since she’s been gone! You haven’t mourned at all! You haven’t even _cried!_ Don’t you think there’s something wrong with that? Don’t you think you should?”

“What happened to people grieving in their own way, Maggie?” Went shoots back. “We talked about this.”

“You haven’t mourned _at all!_ ” She repeats and Richie glances between his parents and then back at Eddie, who looks as if he’d like to disappear.

_You and me both, dude._

“I can’t!”

“You _can’t?!_ ”

“How can I?” Went shouts. “Kat was angry, she was so, _so_ angry and I… I can’t…”

“She’s the only daughter we had! We don’t get a second chance, Went!”

“You don’t think I _know_ that? I loved her too, Maggie!”

“We’re never going to see her again! We’re never going to hold her or kiss her or…” Maggie begins to cry. “She’s gone. She’s just _gone!_ ”

“Maggie, I didn’t even know who she _was_ half the time!” Went argues back. “Of course I miss her. Of course I wish she were still here. Of course what happened was awful- just _awful_. But how dare you sit there and accuse me of-”

“I didn’t accuse you of anything!” Maggie insists. “But she was obviously going through something bigger than we could have imagined and _we weren’t there!_ I’ll never forgive myself for that. At least… At least what she said to Eddie… At least we know she had a good heart. At least through these emails, she’ll live on and we can connect with her.”

Richie’s fucking _had it_.

He leaps to his feet and all six eyes suddenly snap in his direction. “A good heart? She didn’t have a fucking heart; she was a _monster_. And I’m fucking sick and tired of hearing about empty we’re all going to be without her.”

“Rich-”

“No! What the fuck? That’s fucking _bullshit_.” Richie derides. “When Gaston fell off that building, did Belle and the Beast throw a funeral? When Jack Torrance blew up with the damn Overlook Hotel, did Danny and Wendy bawl their fucking eyes out? When the Wicked Witch melted, and Harry defeated Voldemort, and the Joker fell from the cathedral’s gargoyle to his death, did anyone even bat an eyelash? No one was rooting for _them_ to win, were they? Just because Anakin was redeemed before his death doesn’t mean he wasn’t still a _Sith Lord_ who slayed a bunch of kids and wanted to run the galaxy into ruins.”

And with that, he storms out of the house.

He ends up sitting on the abandoned swing set in their backyard, lighting a cigarette in contemplation. Yeah, that was pretty dramatic, but he, Richie Tozier, has always had a proclivity for the dramatics.

(It’s probably the one and only thing he and Kat had in common. Before he was born, Kat had been adamant as all hell that her new sibling was going to be a beloved baby sister. When Went had plopped his toddler daughter on the hospital bed beside her mother to meet her new baby brother, she had cried and cried and screamed louder than any newborn in the ward. Richie had always said she had hated him from day one.)

Richie doesn’t know much about his sister and he’s sure it’s probably because she kept him at least an arm’s length away from her personal life at all times.

But he does know one thing for sure- she was not a good fucking person.

It’s not quite fall yet, but he’s already fucking freezing and wishing he’d brought a jacket with him when he’d taken off theatrically into the night. Shivering in the cold, Richie drops the cigarette to the ground and stubs it out, blowing a small smoke ring into the night sky before wrapping his arms around himself and rubbing at the goose bumps that have arisen on his flesh. For a moment he thinks he hears footsteps, leaves crunching perhaps, and then his suspicions are confirmed when a damp weight sinks into the unoccupied swing beside him. He knows it’s Eddie; his parents had _never_ indulged in his temper tantrums even once. They were the “ _let him cool off and I’ll pretend nothing ever happened a bit later_ ” type; it always used to piss Richie off how absolutely little they cared about his feelings.

Truth be told, it still does.

Eddie doesn’t say anything at all; in fact, he swings just a bit, trying and somehow succeeding to not dig his sneakers into the dirt. For a moment, Richie is transfixed with this because his shoes are so pristine and white, they look brand new. He wonders if Eddie uses a toothbrush to clean these shoes because _goddamn_ , it’s almost unnatural. But, never one to allow silence to reign supreme, Richie eventually sighs and says, “Hey, I’m sorry you had to hear how shitty of a person your best friend actually was. She made my life a living hell, Eddie. I’m not about to lie and say I miss her now that she’s gone, you know?”

Eddie doesn’t reply; he merely keeps swinging ever so slightly and Richie begins to fidget. He doesn’t do well with silence. But just as he’s about to make some awkward, likely inappropriate, joke, Eddie asks, “Are you going to come back to school tomorrow?”

Richie considers this a moment. The school had been more than generous, telling him to take all the time he needs and not to return until he’s absolutely sure he’s ready. He could exploit this, if he really wanted to. “I don’t know. Everyone’s going to be so annoying. It’s like… I’m the brother of the dead girl and suddenly, everyone wants to be my best friend. It’s just… I’m not ready for their fake sympathy, you know?”

Eddie says, “It’s _real_ sympathy, Richie.”

Richie just shakes his head. “Nah. These people didn’t know her. They don’t know _me_. They just want to say something because they don’t want to feel bad about not doing _anything_.”

It seems Eddie can’t argue with that; he doesn’t say anything further. But Richie almost feels like a tapped oil rig; he suddenly can’t _stop_ talking, can’t stop getting it all off his chest and out in the open, and it’s the best he’s felt all week. “Can I… Can I say something awful?”

Eddie glances over at him, meeting his eyes, and nods. “Of course.”

“I really wish she hadn’t died. I mean… I hated her, but I never wished death on her, you know?” Richie asks and Eddie nods again. “And now she’s just… gone. She’s just gone. She’s not here anymore. She’s not here to take the last of the hot water in the morning or tell me that I won’t amount to anything in life because my favorite thing in the world is just a stupid hobby or to pound on my bedroom door to tell me to _turn down your motherfucking music I can’t even fucking hear myself think for once in your life just shut the fuck up Richie!_ And I’m glad… I’m glad she’s not. Guess that makes me seven degrees of fucked up, doesn’t it, Eddie Spaghetti?”

Eddie wrinkles his nose in disgust and Richie can’t help but grin, can’t help but think, _cute, cute, cute!_ “What the hell is Eddie Spaghetti?”

“A cute lil nickname,” Richie beams. “To fit a cute lil guy!”

“Wow, never call me little.” Eddie shakes his head. “I will have you know that I am 5’6’’, which is a perfectly average height for a teenager.”

“A teenage girl, maybe.”

“Just because you’re a scrawny bean pole who towers over the rest of the student body, that doesn’t mean you can make fun of us regular sized people.” Eddie says and Richie chuckles. “Anyway, my horrible new nickname aside… Was that supposed to distract me from how real you got just now?”

It’s definitely getting colder; Richie exhales heavily and can see his own breath. “I do not know to _what_ you could possibly be referring, darling.”

Eddie eyes him. “Richie…”

“Fine, okay, you want real? I’ll show you real, Eds.” Richie caves. “Everyone in school hated my sister. _I_ hated my sister. I even think, sometimes, my parents did too. She was Daddy’s little girl for exactly two-point-five seconds before she went off the deep end and my dad is still mourning that kid instead of the one Kat actually was. And my mom? She always wanted a daughter. She wanted someone she could dress up and take out and get mani-pedis with and all that other mother-daughter bullshit, but Kat never wanted that. Kat hated all of that girly bullshit; I’m sure you knew that. So my mom didn’t know how to _get_ to her, you know? She didn’t get the daughter she wanted and she didn’t know how to reach the one she had. I think Kat resented my parents and I know, on some level, they resented her, too.”

“But now that she’s gone…” Richie continues, shaking his head. “Now everyone wants to pretend that she was some saint. And that’s bullshit- that shit shouldn’t fucking change… Nothing should change just because she’s gone. Just because she’s… It doesn’t change anything she did. And I’m not going to pretend like it did. I can’t play along with my parents and with you and with the whole fucking school. I’m not going to sit in my room and cry over her. She doesn’t deserve that. Because you know what? If it was me? If it was the other way around? I know for a fucking _fact_ that she wouldn’t give a damn.”

Eddie swallows hard; Richie watches the bobbing of his Adam’s apple and wonders if he’s staring just a bit too intently. “Did you read the note? The one she left?”

Richie challenges him, “The one you said she didn’t write?”

Eddie frowns and says, “She cared about you.”

“She didn’t.” Richie disagrees. “She didn’t give a _fuck_ about anyone or anything. And people like that, Eds? People like her? They don’t deserve this; _any_ of this. And they certainly don’t deserve you.”

And with a strong finality, Richie stands and heads off into the night, leaving Eddie behind.


	3. Three

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! So sorry for the amount of time between updates. I'm sure you don't want the "life got super crazy" excuse, but that's what you're going to get! It's also not going to get any better, so likely there will be a gap in between this one and the next chapter too. So sorry! I'll continue to hope for the best! Thank you so much for your kudos and comments- they mean the world! :D

Three

Weeks pass and Eddie begins to feel like an unwilling participant in a magic show.

It’s like every time he talks to the Toziers, he’s reaching into his jacket, his top hat, his long, impressive sleeve and surprising even himself with what he pulls out. He’s basically just throwing a bunch of shit at the wall just to see what sticks and he completely feels like a horrible human being because Went and Maggie devour every word. Richie still seems incredibly skeptical; he acknowledges Eddie in the halls, will talk with him for hours through texts and Facebook messenger and they’ll stay up into the late, late hours of the night, talking and laughing and joking about everything and nothing, but the second Eddie mentions Kat, he shuts down completely. Eddie still lets his mind wander to the night after Kat’s funeral, their swing set chat, and wonders if Richie is perhaps putting him upon a pedestal, if Richie thinks that Eddie is some kind of perfect saint, and the idea puts a funny sort of feeling in his stomach.

_Oh Richie, you don’t know the half of it._

They’re midway through October, now, and people are starting to forget. Or, perhaps forget isn’t quite the right term; people are starting to _move on_. Kat’s death had been all anyone could talk about for the first month of school being back in session and now… now people are consumed with thoughts of homecoming and midterms and Halloween. The school counselor still offers her services whenever the students pass her in the hall but no one takes her up on her offer; they don’t need to. As far as anyone knows, Kat didn’t have any friends and though the loss of such a young girl so suddenly is incredibly tragic, it seems no one, not even her younger brother, continues to mourn her.

It’s almost as if no one had even cared at all.

But- Eddie’s wrong. _He_ cares. His friendship with Kat may have been fabricated, but he cares about Kat more than he ever thought he could.

(A tiny voice inside him shouts back, _Too bad you’re too damn late._ )

He’s leaving school one chilly afternoon in late fall when he feels a hand on his forearm, stopping him in his tracks. Eddie whirls around, his fight or flight instinct triggered, and then visibly relaxes when he realizes it’s just Ben. Ben grins elatedly at Eddie, a bit out of breath from having to jog to catch up with him, and Eddie merely grimaces in response. “Oh, hey Ben. How’s it going?”

“I’ve been looking for you all day, actually.” Ben says. “You’re a real hard guy to track down.”

“I didn’t… I didn’t know you were looking for me.” Eddie shrugs. “Is everything okay?”

“Yeah, yeah, it’s just…” Ben shrugs his backpack off of his shoulder and reaches inside, producing a small rubber bracelet. “I made these. I was selling them outside of the cafeteria earlier today, did you see?”

“I skipped lunch, actually.” Eddie frowns. “I had a huge paper to write so I ate in the library.”

Ben’s eyes widen. “You can eat in the library?”

“No.” Eddie pulls a face. “Don’t tell anyone.”

Ben beams. “Anyway… The proceeds are going to Toziers because even though Kat’s… Well, I thought it might be something nice to do. Would you maybe want one?”

Eddie overturns the bracelet in his palm. One side reads, _Katherine Elizabeth Tozier, 5/25/01- 9/10/18._ The other reads, _You are not alone._

It kind of stings, actually. Kat _had_ been alone, all the way up to the moment she passed away.

“I don’t know, Ben…”

“You don’t have to buy one, I just thought… Well, she was your best friend and all.” Ben says. “I just… It feels like, ever since her funeral, people have started to put this in the past. And that’s not fair to Kat; her story isn’t over just because she’s gone.”

Eddie nods. “That’s nice of you.”

“I’m just trying to keep her relevant, you know? I want to keep her in the forefront of everyone’s minds.” Ben adds. “I don’t want her to slip into the darkness and disappear.”

Eddie says, “I think that’s a great idea.”

“You do?” Ben asks, almost surprised. “Great. _Great!_ Would you maybe want to collaborate and do something to keep her memory alive?”

“Yeah.” Eddie nods. “Yeah, I… I think that sounds great.”

“Okay! I’ve had a few ideas but-”

“Spaghetti!”

Eddie glances up as Richie turns the corner, surrounded on both sides by his gaggle of cronies. “So that’s just what we’re calling me now, huh?”

Richie shoots finger guns in his direction. “Thought we both agreed that nickname just _fits_.”

“Both? No. You. _You_ agreed. I hate it.”

“You don’t.” Richie laughs, turning to Ben and saying, “He really doesn’t…?”

It’s clear Richie’s searching for a name and Ben perks up a bit, introducing himself. “Ben Hanscom. And I’m so sorry about Kat, Richie. It must be so hard.”

Richie darkens the slightest bit. “It’s been something.”

“If there’s anything I can do-”

“So this is the infamous Eddie Spaghetti, huh?” The redhead cuts in, beaming at Eddie, who smiles politely back in response. “Beverly Marsh. That’s Bill Denbrough and Mike Hanlon. Our boy has not shut up about you in weeks. It’s good to finally, officially, meet you!” 

“You, too.” Eddie says. “I’ve… Richie’s talked a lot about you, too.”

“A-a-all good th-things, I hope?” Bill asks, grinning, and Richie smirks.

“If you’re wondering if I told him about that time you peed your pants in the first grade and then stuffed your wet underwear in your backpack,” Richie says, Bev and Mike chuckling beside him. “No, I hadn’t quite gotten around to that yet.”

“Wow, f-fu-fuck off, Rich.” Bill flips him off. “At l-least I ne-never drank spoiled m-m-milk and vom-vomited on the b-bus ride home like _y-y-you_ did in k-kindergarten.”

“How was I supposed to know it was spoiled?”

“It lived in your backpack for a week.” Bev chuckles. “That should’ve been your first clue.”

“Those three have known each other forever as you can see.” Mike laughs and Eddie smiles, too. “I only came in a little while ago.”

“But we adopted you, Michael, no strings attached.” Richie says, an arm around his neck. “Anyway Spaghetti, you’re still coming over this afternoon?”

“Oh, yeah, for sure.” Eddie nods. “I mean, as long as that’s still okay.”

“Are you kidding?” Richie asks. “My parents _love_ when you’re there. I haven’t seen my mom this happy since… well, definitely since before Kat died.”

Ben looks almost as if he’s going to say something, so Eddie confirms, “Great. Then I’ll be there.”

“Coolio. Then I’ll catch you on the flippity flip. Pleasure to meet you too, Haystack.” Richie nods in Ben’s direction and then says, “Come on, boys! That means you, too, Bev.”

“I know what it means, fuck face.” Bev shoots back before grinning once more at Eddie. “Nice to meet you, Eddie. We’ll see you around, yeah?”

“Yeah. Of course.”

They head off towards the auditorium as Ben says, “Poor Richie.”

Eddie pulls a face. “Poor Richie?”

“You can just _see_ how much pain he’s in and how he tries to hide it by being his usual goofy self.” Ben shakes his head. “He just really needs to let go. Maybe if I talk him into helping me with Kat’s memorial-”

“No, that’s- Richie wouldn’t- he’s not…” Eddie can’t seem to get the thought out fast enough. “He and Kat weren’t close and he’s probably just… still dealing with that.”

“Do you talk to him about it?”

“About Kat?”

“Well, seeing as you were her best friend and all…” Ben shrugs. “I don’t know, it just seems like since she’s passed, you two have grown closer and maybe… Richie needs an outlet for his grief. I just thought maybe that outlet was you.”

“No, I ah… No.” Eddie shakes his head. “I mean, we hang out and stuff but… He doesn’t want to talk about Kat.”

“That’s the thing, Eddie, _nobody_ does anymore.” Ben says. “But I think we need to.”

Something about the way Ben says this makes a chill run up Eddie’s spine.

“I think you were right.” Eddie says. “We should collaborate to do something in her memory.”

Ben’s smile is one of surprise. “Okay. Should I call you or-?”

“I’ll get back to you when I think of something, okay?” Eddie reasons and Ben nods.

“Sure. Sure, sounds great.”

“Okay.”

“And Eddie?”

“Yeah?”

“Keep your head up, okay?” Ben suggests and Eddie’s stomach fills with that all-too-familiar sour feeling. “I’m sure this is all really hard for you, but it’s going to get better. Everything will work out in the end.”

Eddie nods and smiles, turning to go with only one thought in the forefront of his mind:

_Dear God, I hope you’re right._

***

He wonders when the Tozier household had begun to feel like home.

Walking up the porch as he’s done nearly a dozen times before feels familiar and he knocks twice on the front door before letting himself in, per Maggie’s infamous “door’s always open” policy. Instantly, an alluring aroma fills his nostrils and Eddie breathes deeply, an easy smile coming to his face. Maggie’s cooking is incredible; he’s told her on numerous occasions and she never fails to blush with the compliment. The house is huge and empty and quiet; it’s clear the Toziers have more money than Eddie and his mother could ever hope for, but it never ceases to amaze him how much space they have and how beautifully they use it. As a single-income family- with that income being Sonia’s disability checks and other government aid- Eddie and his mother live modestly, but their house resembles more of a hospital than a home; every surface and storage space is full of Clorox wipes, orange medication containers with childproof caps, hand sanitizer, hydrogen peroxide, gauze pads and the like. The Toziers, however, have framed paintings and a grandfather clock and beautiful rug underneath a glass coffee table, outlined by leather couches.

It fills Eddie with a strange kind of longing he doesn’t quite understand.

He finds Maggie in the kitchen, sautéing onions and garlic in a skillet and bobbing her head in time with the music emanating from the stereo on the kitchen counter. It makes him smile; the Toziers and their radios- it’s almost like none of them have ever heard of streaming services. He knocks on the side of the archway and she glances up, instantly grinning upon the sight of him. “Hi Maggie. Whatever you’re making smells amazing.”

“Eddie.” She wipes her hands on a dishtowel and crosses the room to hug him, kissing his cheek in greeting. “You’re early, honey. I wasn’t expecting you so soon!”

“Sorry. I just kind of…” Eddie trails off, wondering how best to say: _I didn’t have anything better to do_.

“Oh, it’s alright.” She waves off his concern. “And thank you, sweetheart. Dinner won’t be ready for a bit and Went’s running late at work, as usual, but… Well, hopefully he’ll be back in time to eat.”

“I don’t mind waiting.” Eddie says. “I finished my homework before I came and it’s not like I… Well, I just mean that… There’s nothing I… I don’t know. My mother’s not expecting me until later, I mean.”

“One of these days, I would love to meet your mother, Eddie.” Maggie says, stirring the sizzling aromatics at the stove. “I feel like we could have quite the chat, don’t you think?”

“Oh… I guess so.” Eddie says, his voice doubtful. Truthfully, Sonia thinks Eddie is at Stan’s house working on a school project. It’s his cover story every time and somehow, Stan always backs him up when she calls to check on them.

“Anyway, nothing _too_ fancy tonight.” Maggie says. “Just a baked chicken with some oven-roasted veggies. I know, another boring mom dish, right?”

“I, uh, I don’t know.” Eddie shrugs, thinking of the microwaved dinners he normally eats with his mother. “My mom… She doesn’t cook.”

“Really?” Maggie’s eyes are wide, then playful. “Well, that explains it!”

“Explains what?”

“Why you’re so skinny!” She exclaims, chuckling. “I’ll have to put some meat on your bones. Although, I’ll tell you, I’ve been trying that with Richie since middle school and the kid’s still skin and bones.”

Eddie smirks. “Yeah, I’d guess that all of your food is just contributing to his height.”

Maggie laughs. “He’s been taller than me since he was in the fifth grade.”

Eddie laughs, too. “I can believe it.”

She gets to work chopping some asparagus and says, “Make yourself at home while I finish up, okay? Went won’t be back for a bit, like I said, but Rich is upstairs, somewhere. And let me know if you need anything, will you?”

“Of course.” Eddie nods. “Thank you.”

She nods, too, and refocuses her attention on the cutting board, so Eddie takes this as his cue to leave. He wanders aimlessly through the halls- the dining room, dusty from no use, the bathroom that always smells like lavender, the study where Went’s multiple degrees are framed and a computer sits, on and idle- before finding himself climbing the stairs, admiring the photographs on the way of Kat and Richie through the years. Baby pictures, first day of school pictures, Christmas cards… Eddie is watching the Tozier siblings grow up with each ascending step. It’s hard, really. It’s hard to look at the beaming, bright-eyed girl and think of her awful, untimely outcome, the dark, lonely days that lie before her. It’s hard to look at the gap-toothed, grinning boy beside her and think of the torturous days his sister would put him through. It’s hard to look at the photo at the top of the stairs, Kat’s arm around Richie and his around Kat, and think of how deep the hatred ran between them.

He doesn’t know how _any_ of them- Went, Maggie, Richie- can walk and up and down these stairs multiple times a day without thinking these same thoughts.

And, inevitably, he ends up in Kat’s bedroom.

It’s not at all what he’d expected it to look like.

When he originally pictured a seventeen-year-old girl’s bedroom, he was thinking pink or purple walls, a ruffled comforter on the bed, posters of male celebrities and bottles of perfume and makeup on the dresser. Kat’s room… well, it doesn’t possess any of these qualities. It’s a complete disaster, for one; perhaps it’s a bit sexist, but Eddie had always thought girls were _clean_. Kat had left clothing all over the floor, her closet is wide open, there are bras hanging from the top drawer of her dresser and a backpack is vomiting its contents off of her desk. There’s a bowl of _something_ fermenting on the desk as well, scattered papers and a pen bleeding its ink onto the cheap wood. Her bookcase is so stuffed with books that three have fallen onto the floor and one now has a loose cover. Her bed is unmade and the sheets and comforter are in a tangle at the foot of the bed, as if she had literally just rolled out of bed and left the room for a moment.

It’s what strikes Eddie the most- the room clearly hasn’t been touched since Kat died.

Everything inside indicates that she’ll be back in a moment, a whole life on pause, as if she’d just stepped out for a second and could return at any time.

It’s equally gut wrenching as it is heartbreaking.

This… This is Kat’s _life_. Books and clothes and photos and trinkets she had loved and things that made Kat, _Kat_. Eddie doesn’t know what had been going through Kat’s head when she made her ultimate decision- he has a pretty good idea- but he does wonder if she’d realized all she’d be leaving behind. He looks around and focuses on the small, minute details that defined her as a human being and feels so incredibly out of place he has to take a mental step backward and remind himself why he’s doing this in the first place. Because he had never known Kat; he had never had a real conversation with her, he had never asked about her hopes and dreams and fears and goals, he had never known her favorite color or book or movie, he had never known her achievements or her deepest regrets, he hadn’t even known her middle _name_.

But Maggie knew. Went knew. And, on some level, Eddie imagines Richie knew, too.

He’s doing this for them. Kat’s death had left a hole in their lives, had left them with a thousand gaping questions, and Eddie wants to help fill in the blanks.

A loud throat clearing interrupts Eddie’s thought process and he whirls around to find Richie standing in the doorway, staring. “What are you doing here?”

“Your mom… I… She invited…” Eddie sputters, stammers. “We talked at school, remember? And I thought you… We-”

“I know why you’re here.” Richie rolls his eyes. “I meant why are you _here_ , in Kat’s room?”

“Oh… I guess I just… I didn’t need to be- I mean, I didn’t _mean_ to be-”

“Are you always this goddamned nervous all the time?”

“I’m sorry, is my _social anxiety_ a burden for you?” Eddie snaps and Richie’s eyes widen in surprise. “It’s a legitimate mental health concern. I don’t know what it’s like to be able to speak to people normally without any physical side effects, but it must be pretty fucking sweet.”

“Damn.” Richie says and then shrugs. “Alright, I guess I deserved that.”

“No,” Eddie sighs. “You didn’t. I just… Sorry. I swear when I’m nervous too.”

“Nervous about what, though?” Richie asks. “It’s not like we’re not friends.”

“If I could explain anxiety, it wouldn’t be anxiety.” Eddie tells him. “You don’t know why you’re feeling what you’re feeling or what’s triggering your symptoms. They just happen.”

“Huh.” Richie contemplates. “Sounds shitty.”

“Yeah,” Eddie smirks. “It’s not my favorite.”

“Alas, you have not answered my question, darling.” Richie says. “What are you doing in Kat’s room?”

“I just…” Eddie shrugs. “I ended up here. I wasn’t planning on coming in but…”

“Just don’t tell my mom.” Richie pleads. “She gets weird about Kat’s room. Dad wanted to gut it, donate her clothes and sell the furniture and she freaked out on him. Said he didn’t care about Kat and giving away all of her things would be like forgetting her, all that shit. They didn’t talk for a week.”

Eddie frowns. “Does your mom… Does she think…?”

“I don’t know _what_ she thinks.” Richie says. “I thought my dad was being pretty reasonable; I mean, it’s been over a month. But Mom’s keeping that room like a damn shrine… except the person Kat was isn’t exactly worth remembering, in my opinion.”

“She’s having a hard time letting go.” Eddie says gently. “Maybe she sees that as like… the end. Like if she gets rid of Kat’s things, she’ll have nothing left of her.”

“Yeah I guess.” Richie shivers. “I can’t be in here. Gives me the fucking creeps. My room?”

“Sure,” Eddie agrees, shutting Kat’s bedroom door behind him as they exit.

Contrary to Kat’s room, Richie’s _is_ exactly how Eddie had pictured it. Also a complete disaster, he has posters hanging and old comic books strewn about and more clothing visible on the floor than carpet. Instantly, he tosses a CD into his stereo and Queen blasts through the speakers, making him grin. His music taste is wild and eclectic, ranging from classic rock to old country to bubblegum pop, and Eddie doesn’t quite understand it. But he does appreciate it, all the same. Richie yanks the comforter of his bed up to the pillows and plops down gracelessly onto it, patting the space beside him for Eddie to join. He does, gingerly, and glances around in awe.

A year ago- hell, a _week_ ago- if someone had told him he’d soon be in Richie Tozier’s bedroom, he wouldn’t have believed a damn word.

“So,” Richie starts, flopping to his back, his hands behind his head. “What’s up with you? I know Kat was your only friend, which sucks _big time_ balls, but she’s gone now and… still, you’re _always_ here. Don’t you ever have anywhere better to be?”

_No. Not really, no matter how pathetic that sounds._

“Well…” Eddie starts off, sighing. “I don’t know. I like it here. Your parents are super nice to me and… I just like being here.”

“Fucking sad.” Richie shakes his head and Eddie makes a face at him. “Your parents don’t think it’s weird? I mean, mine don’t check up on me every second of every day, but I think they’d notice if I was, like, never home. Although, these days, who knows? Maybe they wouldn’t.”

“Oh my mom… Well, she doesn’t exactly know.” Eddie says. “I’ve been telling her that I’ve been at our family friend’s house. She believes it, I guess. And my dad passed away a long time ago.”

“Oh shit, sorry.” Richie states. “Didn’t know.”

“It’s okay.” Eddie nods. “My mom… She didn’t take his death well, but I was young, I don’t even remember him. She just got super terrified that the only other person she had in the world would leave her too and she kept me in a bubble, growing up. That’s probably why I have social anxiety.”

“Social anxiety and asthma, too, right?” Richie teases. “Aren’t you just the whole package?”

“Can I tell you something?”

“Shoot.”

“I don’t have asthma.” Eddie admits and it’s the first time he’s told _anyone_. It feels absolutely liberating.

“Wait…” Richie looks confused. “But your inhaler… You used it that day, in the principal’s office. It worked.”

“It’s a placebo.” Eddie explains. “Camphor water. I get panic attacks- pretty bad ones- and that’s the only reason I can’t breathe, really. My mom… My whole life, she had me convinced I was this patient zero on death’s door. She had me on all these medications and I couldn’t participate in gym at school and I had to go to the ER if I so much as sniffled in front of her. Asthma was just one of the illnesses she convinced me I had. And I know I don’t now but the inhaler… It helps anyway. It’s in my head but I can’t… I still feel like I need it.”

“Wow.” Richie remarks, whistling. “She fucked with your head pretty bad.”

“I get it; I mean, my dad was really sick for a while before he died and she was afraid she’d lose me the same way.” Eddie sighs. “She’s sick too, clearly.”

“Eds, she’s fucked up. That shit is _fucked_. How can you do that to someone?” Richie exclaims, sitting up beside him so their knees knock together. “Especially your own kid?”

“I don’t know but she’s always kind of… _hovered_ ever since.” Eddie says. “That’s why I like being here. Your parents treat me like I’m normal even though I’m not and I get to…”

“Escape Psycho Mom?” Richie asks and Eddie laughs.

“Yeah. Yeah, I guess.”

“Shit.” Richie shakes his head. “But that doesn’t answer the most obvious of questions, Eds.”

“… Which is?”

“If you’re not really asthmatic and you don’t really _need_ your inhaler,” Richie begins. “Are you just wearing this fanny pack for fun?”

Eddie pulls a face. “Leave me alone.”

“ _What the fuck?_ ”

“Shut the fuck up, Rich.”

“The 90s called, Eds, just to tell you that even in the 90s, fanny packs were fucking _lame_.” Richie insists. “It makes you look like a tiny, confused American tourist in another country.”

“Alright, I don’t need this abuse.”

“Seriously, do you have different color fanny packs to match your different outfits or is it like a one-size, one-color-fits-all situation?”

“I’m fucking leaving your dumb ass in two seconds.”

“Do you ever keep anything else in there, like a light snack or some condoms and lube or something?”

“Sure, but don’t get too excited; I’m saving them for your friend Bill.”

“Bill’s straight as an arrow, young lad.” Richie says. “But nice to know your type is tall, lanky dumbass.”

Eddie looks at Richie, _really_ looks at him, and thinks, _You have no fucking idea_.

Their laughter quiets and they sober up just a bit. Downstairs, the front door opens and keys jangle against a hook and Eddie can hear the telltale signs of Went coming home, greeting Maggie, and dropping off his things in the study. He turns to Richie, wanting to keep the good-natured humor going, only to find Richie’s face has grown almost somber, definitely darker, definitely colder. He doesn’t get a chance to ask what’s changed; Richie says, “I read the note, Eds.”

“What note?” Eddie asks and feels almost silly for doing so; he should know _exactly_ to what Richie is referring.

“Kat’s… Kat’s suicide note.” Richie clarifies, toying with his hands, his gaze cast downward. “I refused for the longest time and my mother kept pushing it on me and it was the last fucking thing I wanted to do but… You told me I should. So… I did.”

Eddie audibly gulps. “And?”

“And I want to know why.” Richie replies. “Why did she write that? Why did… Why did Kat say what she did… about me?”

For a heart-stopping moment, Eddie has no clue what Richie’s talking about.

And then, it all comes screaming back to him.

_… the only reason I feel like there’s any kind of hope for me is Richie…_

_… I can’t even talk to him…_

_… if I could just talk to him things would be okay…_

_… he doesn’t know me at all…_

_… maybe he wouldn’t even give me the time of day…_

It’s in that instant that Eddie realizes, with painstaking clarity, that he’s going to have to lie to Richie’s beautiful face.

“I don’t know what Kat was thinking…” Eddie starts off gently but Richie shakes his head.

“You were her best friend.” Richie says. “I know you weren’t with her when she wrote this but… You have to know something. I mean… What did she _mean?_ ”

“Well… You two were never close,” Eddie replies. “But… she regretted that. She wanted you to be.”

Richie looks skeptical. “What?”

“She talked about you all the time.” Eddie says. “Kat thought you were… great.”

“She thought I was great.” Richie deadpans. “Kat? Katherine Tozier? _My sister?_ Thought I was _great?_ ”

“Yeah.” Eddie nods simply and prays Richie will leave it at that.

He knows better, though.

“The fuck she did.” Richie shakes his head. “She told me over and over I was the worst thing that ever happened to her.”

“But she didn’t mean it.” Eddie insists. “It’s an awful thing for her to have said and she regretted every nasty thing she ever did or said to you. But she also didn’t know _how_ to talk to you, really.”

“Talking’s kind of my fucking thing.” Richie says. “She could’ve just asked.”

“She wanted to. And she really admired that about you.” Eddie goes on. “She said the easy way you can just start a conversation with _anyone_ about anything was so amazing to her. She said it always left her in awe how you could just make everyone feel included just by talking about the tiniest thing. You can always make someone feel welcome and you somehow always find something to bond over with anyone. That always really impressed her.”

Richie stares at him. “Uh huh.”

“Yeah, and, um.” Eddie clears his throat. “She thought you were _so_ funny. Like she would burst into stitches of laughter any time she repeated one of your jokes or stories to me. She especially liked that one you told me last week, about the pirate’s booty and the parrot-”

“She told me that was offensive to birds and pirates.” Richie says. “As if she gave a shit about either party.”

“Well, she actually loved it. Cried with laughter when she told me.” Eddie says. “She told me you were the funniest person she knew and that, probably, you’d make it to SNL someday, _that’s_ how funny you were.”

“Really?”

“Oh yeah.” Eddie nods. “She said… She said your smile just instantly made everyone in the room happy, including her. Especially, she said, right after you told one of your infamous jokes and had the whole room laughing, that subtle, satisfied smile you have when you can make people laugh just really got to her. It’s like… It makes _you_ happy to make other people happy and that was just such a beautiful sentiment for Kat. She said you probably didn’t even realize you do that, but… Your smile just makes everyone feel so warm and pleased.”

Richie doesn’t say anything, but he swallows hard and his eye contact with Eddie never breaks. Eddie continues, “She knew that when you were stuck on a particular line in whatever script you were reading, you would scribble little mnemonic devices on your palm to help you remember while you were onstage. She told me that you always wore your grey flannel on the opening night of your shows because you thought it was good luck and that when you’re focusing really hard on a book or a math problem or whatever else, you bite your left thumbnail but the not the right one. And she noticed all the thousands of times you would run your hand through your hair, because your hair never fell the same way twice but it always looked amazing.”

“She knew and she saw and she noticed.” Eddie says. “But she couldn’t… She couldn’t quite _get_ to you the way she wanted. She would always say to me, ‘Eddie, I just want to cross this distance between us. I just want to make him _understand_ how much I love and care about him but… How do I do that? How can I when everything has always been shit?’ And I always felt bad because… She didn’t know what to say. She couldn’t talk to you because she never found out _how_. So… everything she saw and noticed and knew, she told me, instead. I wish she could have figured it out. God knows how bad she wanted to.”

Richie’s quiet a moment before asking, “Was there anything else?”

Eddie’s eyes widen. “That she said about you?”

“I mean, it’s fine; it’s not like I expected-”

“No, no, she did, she did, she couldn’t _stop_.” Eddie insists. “She always- I mean, she was always saying- Even though it was a little loud, she loved your taste in music.”

“She did?” Richie asks, appearing pleased. “Get the fuck out; I _knew_ she did! No one hates Queen!”

“Yeah! Yeah, and, um, she loved how unapologetic you were about everything.” Eddie lists. “And she thought you were incredibly brave for accepting and embracing who you are despite how judgmental and shitty this town can be.”

“Well, if you’ve got it, flaunt it, right?” Richie beams and Eddie smirks.

“Yeah, I guess, and…” Eddie says. “And she thought you looked really- I mean, it was really good that time you wore the leather jacket last Halloween.”

“I _should_ bring that back.” Richie nods. “I mean, it was for a costume, but you think I could pull that off still, right?”

“Yeah.” Eddie agrees. “Oh, yeah, of course.”

He shakes his head, seemingly in awe. “I just… I don’t know. It’s just a lot, I guess. She always seemed… I wish she had just talked to me, you know? Instead of leaving me feeling like this.”

“She _wanted_ to.”

“Yeah, but we were two feet down the hall from each other, but that felt like two miles.” Richie shrugs. “I just… I don’t know what to do with that.”

“I know.” Eddie says. “I just want you to know that she cared _a lot_ about you.”

“I guess… I’m just having a hard time believing that.”

“I get it.” Eddie replies. “But she definitely wanted you to know that she loved you.”

With each revelation, each thing Eddie had spent years observing about Richie- and all these things Kat, too, could have noticed if she’d afforded her brother an ounce of attention- it had only made Richie happier and happier. The smile that lights up his face just now is almost worth the massive lie Eddie is telling.

Almost.

It’s then that Eddie realizes that’s all Richie wants- attention.

That thought breaks Eddie’s heart.

But he’s there, sitting right beside Eddie, grinning like he hasn’t in weeks, and this is all Eddie’s doing, isn’t it?

Richie reaches out, interlaces his fingers with Eddie’s, and the latter’s heart is beating so wildly, he wonders if Richie can hear it from how closely they’re sitting.

It is, paradoxically, the happiest and saddest he’s ever been.

***

Richie, on the other hand, is on cloud fucking nine.

He realizes he is entirely way too happy for someone who just lost his sister a month ago, but he can’t help himself. After weeks- _years_ , honestly- of unhappiness, he figures he deserves something like this, something _good_ , and that’s exactly what Eddie is. They talk about a lot of dumb shit and he makes Richie laugh like no other and that’s nice, too, really; it’s nice to be on the giving end of laughter when he’s so used to receiving it. He spends a lot more of his time talking to Eddie than he would have thought, to be honest; the moment he found out his sister had actually _had_ a friend, he simultaneously wanted to know why and wanted absolutely nothing to do with him. But Eddie is… Eddie’s just _great_. He can take Richie’s jokes and dish them back ten times better and once he gets over his initial, social anxiety-induced awkwardness, they always have a real good time.

“Oh Jesus.” Bill groans one afternoon, his eyes rolling. “E-E-Enough about E-E-Eddie. We g-get it, okay? You’re in l-l-love with him.”

“What?” Richie exclaims. “I’m not in love with him.”

“Honey.” Bev shakes her head. “Maybe not love, not just yet. But you are _infatuated_ with him. You talk about him nonstop.”

“You bring him into conversation when it has nothing to do with him.” Mike comments. “You’re a little obsessed.”

“I…” Richie, for once, is at a loss for words. “Am I that obvious?”

“You-You’re a fu-fucking idiot, Tozier.”

“Suck my ass, Denbrough.”

“I’ll pa-pass.” He waves a nonchalant hand. “Bu-But I could p-probably get E-E-Eddie to do it.”

“Literally _fuck off_.”

“You know what you should do?” Bev suggests. “Invite him camping with us this weekend.”

“That’s a good idea, Bev.” Mike agrees. “That way we can get to know the soon-to-be fourth member of our little fam.”

“I don’t know.” Richie hesitates. “It _is_ a good idea, but I don’t think it would be something he would be into. He’s not the outdoorsy type.”

“ _You’re_ not the outdoorsy type.” Bev points out. “The only thing you do outdoors is smoke.”

“I mean the word ‘camping’ is already a stretch.” Mike chuckles and Bev joins in. “But come on. That way we can get to know your man a little better and we can all hang out and unwind a little bit.”

“He’s not my man, Michael.”

“ _Yet_.”

“Rich is j-ju-just nervous that i-i-if he asks E-E-E- _fuck_.” Bill frowns, instantly pissed. “ _Eddie_ out, he’ll s-say no.”

“Excuse you, I have more savoir-faire in my pinky than you do in your entire lanky body, Billiam.” Richie says. “But this isn’t a _date_ ; we’re friends. And you jackasses will all be there, so-”

“Well, whatever happened to romance?” Bev teases, dramatically sighing with a hand over her heart.

“I didn’t know Richie _was_ a romantic, honestly.”

“I fucking hate both of you.”

“I ju-just want to say, I ha-haven’t said a w-w-word.”

“That’s because you _can’t_ say a word, Bill.”

“ _Wow_. Fuck a-a-all of y-y-you assholes.”

“Guys.” Richie says, strangely serious for a moment. “Eddie’s never going to want to hang out with us.”

“Because we’re too cool?” Mike jokes.

“Because we’re _douchebags_. You too, Bev.”

“Tozier, suck my dick.”

“Didn’t think you had one. Bill?”

“ _Oh for the love of_ -”

“D-D-Do you realize that you f-f-fell for a s-s- _senior_?” Bill asks. “Your s-s-sister’s b-best friend? You’re a d-d-dumb fuck, Rich.”

“I didn’t ask for your opinion!” Richie says. “Shove it up your ass. Do you want me to ask Eddie to come with us or not?”

“Yes!”

“Yes, he’s so cute!” Bev nods. “I want to get to know him better.”

“I can’t promise anything.”

He hadn’t actually expected Eddie to say no, though.

“Sorry, Rich, it’s just…” Eddie had shrugged a day later. “I just… I don’t do the whole… outside thing.”

“Because of your allergies, right?” Richie asks. “Your _fake_ allergies?”

Eddie frowns. “No. It’s just… I’ve never gone camping and I-”

“Well, to be fair, it’s not _really_ camping.” Richie shrugs. “We only have one tent. Mike and I usually just sleep in the bed of his truck.”

“And you don’t freeze to death?”

“We wear like six layers.”

“That sounds _terrible_.”

“It’s _awesome_.” Richie shakes his head. “Plus, they’re _dying_ to meet you.”

“They met me the other day.” Eddie points out and Richie rolls his eyes.

“You know what I mean.” Richie says. “They want to hang out with you, get to know you better, you know, the whole friendship thing?”

Eddie makes a face. “I don’t know…”

“You seem like you could use some friends. No offense.”

“No, I…” Eddie sighs. “It doesn’t even matter, because my mother would _never_ let me go.”

“Make something up!” Richie insists. “Say you’re staying overnight with Stan the Man again. Isn’t that your usual alibi?”

“There are only so many times she’ll believe that.” Eddie replies. “I don’t think I can do it.”

“School trip?”

“She calls ahead and has me exempt from those.”

“What the fuck? You can do that?”

“Oh trust me, my mother can do _anything_ if she’s feeling vindictive enough.”

“Fuck, man.”

“It’s kind of bullshit, actually.”

“Well…” Richie says, feeling pretty desperate at this point. He hadn’t realized how much he actually wanted Eddie to come until now. “Do you think there’s anything you _can_ say?”

Eddie asks, warily, “Why? I mean, we hang out-”

“Yeah but… I want you to come.” Richie says. “Fucking hell, do I have to spell it out for you?”

“You really… You want me to… I mean, you don’t mind if I-?”

“Don’t mind? Dude, I _invited_ you.” Richie laughs. “Just… figure it out. Get back to me later. We’re going to have food and plenty of blankets and sleeping bags so you don’t even have to bring anything. Just dress warmly if you do come, okay? You’re tiny- I imagine you would freeze to death pretty fast.”

“Fuck you.” Eddie laughs, flipping him the bird.

Richie grins, a warm, familiar feeling growing in his chest.

That same wide, elated grin returns to his face the next afternoon, an unseasonably warm Friday at the end of October, when he receives a text from Eddie saying, _Okay, I’m in._

Richie texts back: _What did you have to tell your mother?_

_She’s visiting her sisters in Portland for the weekend and I claimed I had too much homework and couldn’t go._

He chuckles. _You lil renegade!_

_What can I say? You bring out the worst in me_.

It makes Richie’s heart flip and he swears under his breath. Fuck. _Fuck_.

This is so fucking stupid; he’s acting like a twelve-year-old girl.

The drive up to the Barrens is silent and pensive. Eddie is gazing out of the adjacent window like he’s never left his home before and judging by what he’s told Richie about his childhood, that isn’t too far off the mark. The sun is already setting by the time they reach their destination, casting a hazy pink-orange glow across the landscape as Bev and Mike get to work setting up the tent. Bill returns from the depths of the surrounding forest with a handful of fallen branches and arranges them in a self-supporting tower, tossing a match in the center and grinning when the result is a nice roaring fire. Richie, of course, does what Richie does best; he pokes fun at all of his friends for their nitpicky way of doing their jobs, because they never seem to trust him with any, and he curses back when they provide him with a plethora of profanities.

Eddie mostly watches. Richie can tell already that he feels a little out of the loop.

Before he can rein him back in, Bev does so for him, settling in front of the fire and wiping a bead of sweat from her brow. “Alright Eddie, we want to hear everything. Tell us everything there is to know about you.”

“Oh, uh…” Eddie falters. “Like what?”

“Anything we don’t already know!” Bev replies.

Mike nods, adding, “Richie has told us you’re the cutest person alive-“

Eddie’s head snaps in Richie’s direction, who shrugs. “Guilty.”

“-and that you have a profane mouth that rivals his own.” Mike finishes. “Though I highly doubt _that’s_ possible.”

“Just wait! You just gotta get him going!” Richie exclaims and Eddie rolls his eyes.

“Shut the fuck up, Richie.”

“Hey!”

“Th-Thanks, he deserved th-that.”

“But my life… I mean, it’s really not that exciting, it’s…” Eddie shakes his head. “I live with my mom. My dad passed away when I was little.”

“I’m so sorry.”

“It’s okay. I was in preschool; I don’t even really remember him.” Eddie goes on. “But my mom’s a little obsessive and a little protective; I actually had to lie to her to be able to come tonight.”

Mike frowns. “That’s messed up.”

“Well, if I hadn’t, I wouldn’t have been able-”

“No, no, not that you lied.” Mike shakes his head. “I mean, that she wouldn’t let you go. Why wouldn’t your mom let you hang out with friends?”

“She’s never really… I don’t think she’s ever wanted me to _have_ any.” Eddie says. “She always just wanted me to rely on her for everything. Even friendship, I guess.”

“ _Fuck_.” Bill remarks. “That s-s-s-sucks, man.”

“Now you see why he’s an anxious little shit?” Richie asks. “Who wouldn’t be after that?”

“Richard, your sensitivity to this subject is admirable.” Bev rolls her eyes. “Don’t feel bad, Eddie. My parents aren’t anything to write home about, either. My dad acts like he _doesn’t_ knock my mom around and my mom only takes it so he doesn’t come after me. I try to spend as little time there as possible.”

“Shit.” Eddie bites his lip. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s alright. One more year and I’ll be out of there.” Bev says. “They can kill each other for all I care; their relationship is poison. I spend most of my life at Bill’s.”

“N-Not like m-m-my house is any b-bet-better.” Bill replies. “My little b-b-brother died when he w-w-as s-s-six and my parents haven’t b-b-been the same s-s-since. Pretty much ignore me. I th-think they w-w-wish it was m-m-me instead.”

“Jesus Christ, I’m about to adopt all three of you.” Mike puts in, shaking his head. “My parents are amazing and they will happily take care of you guys.”

“Well we can’t all have Jessica and William Hanlon for parents, can we?” Richie adds. “Must be the fucking dream.”

Eddie says, “I like your parents, Rich.”

“Yeah, Went and Maggie are not that bad.” Bev comments and Richie rolls his eyes.

“They h-h-had to have gotten b-b-bet-better since…” Bill trails off, uneasy and Richie’s eyes darken.

“Since what?” He challenges. “Since they don’t have _Kat_ to worry about anymore?”

“N-N-N-No, that’s n-n-not-”

“Au contraire, monsieur Denbrough.” Richie sighs. “Au con-fucking-traire.”

“Let’s not talk about Kat.” Eddie pleads and Richie relaxes the tiniest bit.

“Yeah, let’s talk about something happier.” Bev agrees. “Should we play a little game?”

“Of course.” Mike nods, reaching into the cooler by his feet and pulling out a case of beer. “I brought reinforcements.”

“You don’t h-h-have to d-d-drink if you don’t w-w-want to, Eddie.”

“Who says he’s not going to drink?”

“Fuck _off_ , R-Rich, I’m j-j-just trying-”

“It’s okay, seriously.” Eddie smirks. “I’m here to get the whole experience.”

Richie beams and passes him a can. “Never Have I Ever?”

“We _always_ f-f-f-fucking p-play that.”

“We’ve never played it with Eddie!”

“Will you two stop bitching for literally once in your lives?”

“Bev, I love you, you know you’re my girl, my main bitch, my side piece, but not fucking now. I’m trying to prove a point.”

“Fucking _suck my dick_ , Tozier.”

Mike rolls his eyes, turning to Eddie and saying, “If you’re wondering, yes, it’s like this all the time.”

Eddie laughs. “I guess that comes with being friends for so long, right?”

“These three have been attached at the hip since birth.” Mike agrees. “Sometimes it still kind of feels like I’m the outsider, so I know how you must feel right now.”

“When did you meet them again? High school, you said?”

“Freshman year.” Mike nods. “My parents homeschooled me from kindergarten and then one day decided I needed to be socialized before going to college. I met Richie the first day, in math class, and the rest was history.”

Eddie nods. “And you’re in drama too?”

“Set design.” Mike confirms. “They needed someone with basic carpentry skills and growing up on a farm really helped with that.”

“That’s why the sets always look so gorgeous.” Eddie comments. “You’re really talented.”

“Thank you.” Mike grins. “I really appreciate that.”

“Hey, assholes.” Richie shouts. “We’re playing Never Have I Ever, you guys in?”

“Sure.” Mike shrugs.

Eddie hesitates. “What is that?”

“You are so goddamned precious, you little snowflake.” Richie beams, nudging his shoulder. “We’re gonna go around in a circle, each saying something we haven’t done, and if it’s something you _have_ done, you take a drink. Drunkest person at the end is the winner.”

“I th-thought it was th-the most sober p-p-person was the winner?”

“How would being _sober_ be considered winning?”

“T-T-Touché.”

“Bev, since you are the most experienced of us all-”

“Wow.”

“-you start us off.”

“Okay.” She rolls her eyes. “Never have I ever licked a school toilet seat.”

Bill pulls a face. Eddie looks as though he’s going to gag. But Richie chuckles, takes a swig of his beer and says, “You fucking bitch.”

“Tell me you didn’t deserve that.”

“You _licked_ …” This time, Eddie _does_ a gag. “A _public restroom?_ ”

“Okay, in my defense-”

“There’s no way to defend that.” Mike shakes his head.

“No, it was-”

“And I definitely didn’t ask for an explanation.”

“Just listen to me, you fuckers, it was-”

“Bill, your turn!” Bev shouts over Richie’s rambling and Bill shudders, shaking his head.

“N-Never ha-have I ever…” He trails off, thinking how to finish. “Been outside the state of Maine.”

All four of them take a drink, to Bill’s surprise. “Wh-What the f-f-fuck?”

“You gotta get out more, Billy Boy.” Richie says. “Grandparents live in Florida.”

Bev says, “I hitchhiked to New Hampshire, once. My mother _actually_ called the police to bring me home.”

“We go to Myrtle Beach every summer.” Mike chimes in. “It’s pretty packed, but the weather’s always perfect.”

They all look to Eddie, who’s still grimacing over the taste of the beer. “Oh, uh, we went to New York City when I was really little. I remember riding the train and how tall the buildings were. Nothing else.”

Bill frowns, dejected. “F-F-Fuckers.”

“My turn?” Richie asks and everyone seems to answer hesitantly. He wiggles his eyebrows mischievously. “Never have I ever dated Bill Denbrough.”

“Why is that your go-to every time?” Bev rolls her eyes as she slugs back a drink. “Is that your way of getting back at me for before?”

“Had to be done, my dear.”

“You guys dated?” Eddie asks, amused and Bill chuckles.

“I-I-If you c-c-could call it th-that.”

“It was two months in the ninth grade.” Bev explains. “We danced around our mutual crush for the entirety of eighth grade, dated for the first two months of ninth grade and then realized it was weird for everyone involved. We kissed; that’s about as far as it went.”

“We b-b-barely even h-he-held hands.” Bill adds. “It w-w-was weird.”

“It was a good lesson, though.” Bev says. “Some people are just better as friends.”

Richie frowns, his stomach suddenly churning the tiniest bit. Mike prods gently, “Eddie, it’s your turn.”

“Oh my turn? Oh, okay, um…” Eddie inhales a deep breath. “Never have I ever been drunk.”

All four of them knock back a drink and Bill grins at him. “Hang out w-w-with us m-more often, E-E-Eddie. We’ll f-f-fix that in n-n-no time.”

“We don’t need to corrupt him!” Mike disagrees. “Eddie, you’re fine just the way you are.”

Eddie laughs genuinely. “Thanks.”

“Never have I ever,” Mike begins. “Been to a school dance.”

Bev drinks but says, “You’re not missing much.”

Bill does, too. “The m-m-music sucks and th-the chaperones sp-spend their time m-making sure no one is d-d-dry-humping on the d-d-dance floor.”

Richie drinks and says, “I had fun last time! Junior prom, Michael, we’re getting you a date and you’re going to have a good time.”

“You had fun because you got drunk and stuck your tongue down Alexis McCarthy’s throat.”

“Sometimes that’s the only way to have fun.”

“Wait, how come we’re not acknowledging that Eddie hasn’t been to a dance either?” Mike asks and then all eyes are on the senior.

“I…” Eddie stammers. “I don’t… I never got a chance.”

“We’ll fix that, too.” Richie promises. “You’ll go with me, won’t you?”

“To prom?” Eddie asks, his eyes wide.

“Why not?” Richie shrugs, feigning nonchalance though his heart slams wildly against his ribcage.

“Because it’s… Because we…” Eddie struggles for a moment. “Because of Derry. Because of how they are here.”

“Fuck Derry.” Richie says bluntly. “I never cared what this piece of shit town thought of me before and I ain’t about to start now, cupcake.”

Eddie stares back, unblinking. Bill breaks the silence a moment later with, “Bev… I th-think it’s y-y-your turn.”

Strangely enough, it’s Bill who ends up winning, with Richie as his close second. Eddie remains pretty solidly sober and looks relieved when no one makes fun of him for it. Something about that small look in his eyes makes Richie’s heart ache the tiniest bit, as if Eddie is so accustomed to being tortured and teased, he’d even expected it from people who were already calling themselves his friends. Again, his mind drifts towards Kat, abandoning his own wishes, and he wonders if Eddie is a glutton for punishment; if the only reason he was friends with Kat is because putting up with the way she made his life hell was worth the company of having a friend in the long run. This thought makes him hate his sister even more than he already did.

Bill and Bev take the tent, as per tradition, and Mike graciously allows Eddie and Richie the bed of his truck, climbing inside and taking the backseat. He rolls down all four windows and shuts the door behind him. The temperature has dropped into the mid to low 60s and Richie takes the giant camp blanket once they’re settled in their sleeping bags, draping it over the sides of the truck and over their heads like a makeshift ceiling. Eddie asks, “Are we going to suffocate in here?”

“Haven’t died yet.” Richie shrugs, but tugs the blanket back a tad so a generous sliver of fresh air can enter. “But just in case.”

It’s quiet, now; Richie can already hear Mike’s soft snores from within the truck and the distant hooting of an owl somewhere past the tree line. “Are you good? Do you need any extra blankets or sweatshirts? We’ve got, like, a million of them.”

“I’m fine.” Eddie assures him. “This is nice, actually. I’m not going to lie; I was extremely skeptical. And I don’t know if you can call this _camping_.”

“I told you.” Richie laughs. “It isn’t, really.”

“I always thought camping required bug spray and s’mores.”

“Bugs went back to the hell they came from for the winter.” Richie says and Eddie laughs. “And we can have s’mores next time, but you’re buying. Rest of us are broke as fuck.”

Eddie eyes the “tent” above them and says, “You don’t fucking say.”

The comfortable silence between them almost lulls Richie to sleep and he falsely assumes Eddie has given in to slumber, too. But his voice echoes off of the cold metal flatbed of Mike’s truck a moment later, sounding wide-awake. “Do you really want me to go to prom with you?”

“Yeah.” Richie replies easily. “Of course I do, Eds.”

“Yeah, but… _With_ you?” Eddie asks. “Or _with you_ -with you?”

Richie blinks. Pauses. And then says, “I don’t… What do you mean?”

Eddie says, quickly, “Never mind, just... Never mind. Forget it.”

But he doesn’t.

Eventually, Eddie’s breathing evens as he falls asleep but Richie lies awake, rethinking his question over and over.

He thinks so hard and for so long, that soon, birds are chirping and the sun begins to rise, peeking through the gap he’d created between the truck and the camp blanket.

Eddie stirs, his hair sticking in a hundred different directions, and rubs his eyes. Richie has never seen anything more beautiful in his entire life. “Morning, sleeping beauty.”

Eddie yawns. “Fuck off.”

“Grumpy lil gremlin in the morning? Noted.” Richie nods. “If I’d known I’d be waking up next to you this soon, I wouldn’t have worn so much clothing.”

“And frozen to death?” Eddie asks, pulling his sleeping bag closer. “If I knew waking up next to you was this annoying, I would’ve slept on the ground.”

Richie laughs. “Alright, cutie! You got some good ones!”

“How close are you to _fucking off_ like I asked you to?”

And it clicks. It all settles into place.

Richie has never been so sure of anything in all his life.

It takes them about an hour or so take down the tent and pack all their things in the back of the truck. On the way home, Eddie is talking and laughing with the rest of Richie’s friends as though he’s been there, a part of them, all along. Richie watches, just watches, and every so often, Eddie gives him this strange look, asking, _you okay?_ with a tiny cock of his eyebrow. He’s fine, thanks for asking, except he’s probably going to explode into a thousand tiny pieces if he doesn’t kiss that goddamned smirk off of Eddie’s beautiful face. Mike stops at Eddie’s first, just in case his mother had decided to make a reappearance before the end of the weekend, and it’s a good thing; she’s standing in the living room window, the curtains parted. Eddie frowns instantly, all his carefree, happy-go-lucky feelings from before completely gone. He bids farewell to Bev and the other boys and Richie, ever the gentleman, thank you very much, says he’ll walk Eddie to his door.

On the walk up, Eddie says, “Thanks for inviting me. I actually had a really great time.”

“The pleasure was all mine, Spaghetti Man.” Richie tells him. “You’re one of us now. Don’t you forget it.”

“Right.” Eddie says, smiling, and glances back at his front door.

“How bad are you going to get it from her?” Richie asks and Eddie sighs.

“Probably pretty bad.” He shrugs. “I don’t care. It was worth it.”

_Sweet Jesus_.

“Eddie,” Richie inhales and Eddie’s eyes meet his. “I meant what I said. I want you to go to prom with me.”

“Okay.” Eddie replies, chuckling a little. “I know; you said that last night.”

“ _With me-_ with me.” Richie tells him, desperate for Eddie to understand. “Like… On a date.”

Surprise colors Eddie’s features, but the smile Richie earns in return is warm and pleased and genuine. So he’s not fucking crazy, okay? Because Eddie feels it, too; there _is_ something between them.

A voice deep within Richie is shouting, _This is your fucking chance, dumbass. Go for it._

And so he does.

Richie steps closer, still, into Eddie’s personal space, and kisses him. For a moment, he wonders if the shock of his actions has frozen Eddie solid- he’s standing rigidly, stock-still before him- but a moment later he melts, giving in, kissing back. Richie brings both of his hands up to cradle Eddie’s face, tilt his chin, slot their mouths more comfortably together and he feels Eddie’s hands on the lapels of his jacket, pulling him closer. Richie is a sixteen-year-old boy, okay? He’s had _dozens_ of first kisses; drunken ones at parties, stage ones between actors in front of their whole school, experimental ones with both boys and girls.

Not one of them- _not one of them_ \- has felt like this.

But just as soon as it starts, it’s over.

Eddie pulls away frantically, almost shoving Richie away from him, and his lips are kissed red and shiny with spit. Richie asks, “What’s wrong? Are you… Are you okay?”

“Nothing, n-nothing, I… Nothing.” Eddie stammers. “I had a really great time, I… I’ll… I’ll see you in school, Richie.”

He turns, trips going up the stairs, fumbles with his house key and lets himself inside, slamming the door behind him.

Silence.

Richie stands there, staring at the emptiness Eddie left behind in his wake, and lets out a barely audible, “What the _fuck?_ ”

Dejected and utterly disappointed, Richie trudges back to the truck, climbing into his seat and wracking his brain for something funny to say.

Nothing comes.

Bev reaches out and takes his hand, but says nothing. Bill and Mike at least have the decency to pretend they hadn’t seen.

***

His lips are _still_ fucking tingling. That’s normal, right?

All in all, it hadn’t been that bad. Although, everything his mother had screamed at him is _still_ playing on a loop in the forefront of his brain even now, an hour later.

“ _You LIED to me, Eddie!_ _How could you lie to your own mother?!_ ”

“ _I don’t even know these people you’re running off with! How could you do this to me? What if you’re not safe? What if you get hurt? What if you get sick?_ ”

“ _What do you mean you’re not taking your pills anymore? Where is your inhaler? Why aren’t you using it? You don’t get to decide that you’re not sick, Eddie, you’re not a doctor!_ ”

“ _I ought to take you to the emergency room right now to get you checked out!_ ”

“ _Who is that boy? What are you doing with him, Eddie? Oh god, what are you doing_?”

“ _It’s not right! It’s just not right! How could you do this to me? You’re not… You’re not like that, Eddie! You’re a good, clean, responsible boy! This is just wrong. This is sick! You’re sick. You’re sick but I’ll make you better, Eddie, I’ll make it right._ ”

The rest of it had pretty much been drowned out by her sobs.

Eddie sits now on his bedroom floor, his head resting back upon the door he’d slammed in her face over an hour ago, his eyes closed. It hadn’t been quite what he’d been expecting, but of course it could’ve gone better. He wonders what it was like for Richie to come out to _his_ parents. Went and Maggie are so accepting of who their son is and Eddie is struck in that moment with a deep sense of longing for their unconditional love. Because this? This heated argument between Eddie and Sonia? This isn’t anything he could’ve hoped or prepared for. He knows how his mother is; he knows his mother believes homosexuality is a sin. He knows how she looks down on those select few in their town who are unapologetically out. But some tiny, optimistic part of him had truly, honestly, _deep down_ believed that since he was her _son_ , Sonia wouldn’t have turned up her nose at him. She would put aside her prejudice and continue to love him, regardless of who _he_ chooses to love.

Eddie groans. He’s a fucking idiot.

And Richie, poor, sweet, unassuming Richie, had no idea what he was getting them both into when he chose to kiss him earlier today.

Eddie’s honestly surprised witnessing the kiss from their living room window hadn’t given his mother a coronary. He’s shocked she hadn’t burst out of the house in her slippers and dressing gown and physically pulled Richie off of him, demanding to know what he was doing with her son. It certainly wasn’t the way Eddie was planning to tell his mother he’s gay, but he doesn’t necessarily regret it either. What he _does_ regret is the way he’d handled it with Richie. He couldn’t help it; catching that slight glimpse of his mother _watching_ them in horror while he was kissing Richie was a major buzz kill and he… well. He reacted. _Way to fucking go, dumbass. As if your social anxiety hasn’t gotten in the way for you and Richie before, now you’ve really done it. He’ll never want to kiss you again and you won’t get to go to prom. He probably thinks you’re not interested._

Eddie groans again. “I’m a fucking idiot.”

He isn’t expecting his bedroom to answer. “No, you’re not.”

Eddie’s eyes fly open and he nearly jumps out of his skin. Across his bedroom, sitting cross-legged on top of his desk, is Kat Tozier, not quite corporeal, not quite ghostly. Just simply _there_. A hand over his heart, Eddie attempts to calm his breathing, saying, “Oh that’s fucking _great_. So not only am I an idiot, now I’m apparently going _insane_.”

“You’re not going insane.” Kat says. “But you’re definitely dramatic as hell.”

“So talking to a ghost is normal behavior in your book?”

“Hey, I might be dead but I still have feelings, jackass.” Kat replies. “Stop making everything about you, Eddie. You’re doing all of this because of me, remember? This is supposed to be about _me_.”

Eddie instantly softens, standing and coming closer. “I know. I haven’t forgotten.”

“Well, everyone else has.” Kat says. “I’m still here, you know. I’m still watching. And you’re not an idiot; you finally told your mom who you really are. Aren’t you proud of yourself?”

“I didn’t, really.” Eddie sighs. “She saw…”

Kat purses her lips. “She saw you kissing my brother?”

“She saw everything and I didn’t deny it.”

“Well that’s a step in the right direction.” Kat tells him. “It doesn’t matter how she feels; if you accept you who are, then no one else’s opinion matters.”

Eddie shrugs. “I guess.”

“I need you to do something for me now.” Kat says. “My parents need you and Richie, too. Everyone’s forgetting.”

“They’re not.”

“They _are_.” Kat insists. “At this rate, a month from now, no one will even remember I existed. I won’t matter to anyone.”

“That’s not true.” Eddie shakes his head. “You’ll matter to me. You’ll always matter to your parents.”

“But that’s not enough. It was _never_ enough.” Kat tells him. “It’s too easy for people like me- people like _us_ , Eddie- to slip through people’s memories. I’ll just be Kat Tozier, the girl who crashed her car into a parked school bus during a bender. You’ll always be Eddie Kaspbrak, the boy who had a panic attack trying to talk to Richie.”

“That was…” Eddie trails off, frowning. “That was different.”

“But is it? Is it really?” Kat asks. “We’re just fading into the background, Eddie. You don’t have friends and I didn’t either. People need something to remember me by. If you can do that for me, then maybe there will be hope for other people like us. Maybe if you can keep me in everyone’s thoughts, then… You’ll prove to everyone that we’re not alone; that everyone matters and more importantly… someone will always _see_ us. We won’t go unnoticed.”

“No one deserves to fade into the background.” Eddie agrees and Kat nods.

“That’s it. That’s exactly it.” Kat says. “You shouldn’t have to be the most popular person in school to be noticed. The quiet ones, the shy ones, the weird ones and the anxious ones- we all matter, too.” 

“I have to show them.” Eddie says, determined, and Kat, again, nods.

“You _need_ to show them.”

“Everyone wants to be seen.” Eddie states. “Everyone wants to be _heard_. Everyone deserves that. Everyone deserves to feel like they matter, like someone’s listening when they call out for help.”

“No one should ever have even the smallest doubt of that.” Kat replies. “No one should ever feel like I did.”

Eddie reaches for his laptop, sitting upon his bed and immediately opening a fresh Word document, promising, “And no one ever will. Not after I’m done with this.”

It comes to him all at once.

A foundation in Kat’s name. An in-person and an online presence to make it open to everyone, all ages and multimedia skill levels. Links to suicide hotlines in all fifty states and psychiatrists taking in new patients suffering from depression. A fundraising drive to help the Toziers and people dealing with mental health issues just like Kat. A memorial assembly to jumpstart the whole thing, in the auditorium, perhaps, or even the gymnasium.

But he can’t do this alone.

He opens FaceTime and starts a group chat with Ben and Stan. He glances up from his computer to tell Kat all of his wonderful ideas-

But Kat is gone.

Ben answers on the first ring. “Hey Eddie! How’s it going? I was just thinking about you, actually. Have you been brainstorming ideas for Kat’s memorial?”

Stan answers a moment later, just as it’s about to cut off his call. “Make it quick, Eddie, I’m going out to dinner with a few friends from camp.”

“Oh, hi Stan!” Ben waves. “I didn’t know you were here too.”

“Hey Ben.” Stan nods curtly. “So what’s the deal, Kaspbrak?”

It takes him less than five minutes to spew out all of his ideas for the foundation because he’s talking a mile a minute. Ben is nodding excitedly and enthusiastically; Stan starts taking notes. At the end, Eddie takes a breath and asks, “So what do you think?”

“I think it’s a _great_ idea, Eddie!” Ben encourages. “This is _exactly_ what I was thinking we needed to do for her. We have to do this for Kat, but we also have to do this for _everyone_. You’re right; no one deserves to be forgotten. Could I be vice president?”

“Vice president?”

“Actually, we should probably be co-presidents, don’t you think?” Ben asks. “Since it was my idea to do something, but you come up with the actual idea.”

“Co-presidents.” Eddie repeats and then nods. “Yeah. Yeah, I like that. That’s a good idea.”

Stan hesitates before saying, “This is actually pretty brilliant.”

“Stan!” Ben exclaims. “Would you like to be the secretary? Or the treasurer? Actually, you could be both!”

“I’d like that.” Stan nods. “If Kat was feeling low enough to turn to suicide, then there’s no way she’s the only one. We couldn’t save her, but we can save others. We can help them.”

“Yeah.” Eddie nods again. “My point exactly. And we can make sure that Kat is at the start of all of this; that her name never leaves the minds of everyone in Derry.”

Stan then asks, “What are you thinking of calling it?”

Eddie had been dreading this part. He doesn’t want them to judge the tentative-but-kind-of-permanent name he’d already fallen in love with. “I’m… I want to- I’m calling it The Kat Connection.”

“I love it.” Ben approves. “It’s perfect.”

“The Kat Connection.” Stan tries it on for size. “With a K or a C? Please don’t tell me you’re spelling it with a K. We’re not the Kardashians.”

“No,” Eddie laughs. “With a C.”

“Then it _is_ perfect.” Stan nods. “This is actually the best idea you’ve had so far, Eddie.”

It’s the highest praise he’s ever gotten.

Their first order of business is, of course, to bring it to the Toziers.

“We’re calling it The Kat Connection.” Eddie tells them a few days later, Stan and Ben on either side of him, as the Toziers- yes, all three of them- sit on the couch before them.

Went frowns as Maggie implores, “The Kat Connection?”

“We’re going to have a whole foundation set up in Kat’s name.” Ben explains. “A website with links to suicide hotlines and educational material on depression-”

“A massive fundraising drive for those in need.” Stan adds. “Tables, booths, flyers-“

“A memorial assembly at school,” Ben continues. “To keep everyone talking about and thinking of Kat-“

“I want to put something together to stop future tragedies like this one from happening.” Eddie says and tears begin to fill Maggie’s eyes as she listens. Went is nodding every so often. Richie is staring blankly at him. “Kat must’ve felt… Well, no one can ever know. But we want to give others a way out _other_ than taking their own life. We want to make sure that someone always has someone else to talk to, someone always has someone else to reach out to, and someone is always connected to someone else. What better way to do that than to, well… build a community?”

“Eddie, I…” Maggie exclaims. “I don’t know what to say.”

“This really is incredible.” Went agrees. “I can’t thank you enough.”

“It’s so wonderful to think…” Maggie shakes her head. “Maybe she’ll be remembered in a positive light after all.”

“Thank you.” Went says, reaching out and shaking Eddie’s hand.

But Maggie stands and embraces him. “Eddie, thank you _so_ much.”

In the chaos that follows, with Ben and Stan filling Went and Maggie in on a few more details Eddie had missed, Eddie glances over at Richie, who’s still picking at the couch cushions, completely uninterested. Eddie’s palms begin to sweat and his throat twinges dangerously, as if taunting him with _try to talk to Richie again, you fucking dumbass, I dare you_. He inhales a deep, calming breath and tells himself he’s not going to panic, he _can_ breathe, thank you very much, and he’s being an idiot. He can’t just _stand_ here. He has to say something.

“So, um…” Eddie starts and Richie glances up at him, as if suddenly realizing he’s been here all along. “What do you think?”

“About your weird obsession with my sister or about The Kat Connection?” Richie asks and for some reason, he puts air quotes around the words. It irks Eddie the slightest bit.

“I’m not obsessed with Kat.” Eddie says. “ _Obviously_ The Kat Connection, dumbass.”

“Oh, _obviously_. So I’m supposed to read your mind?” Richie asks, shaking his head. “Why does my opinion even matter?”

“Everyone’s opinion matters, Rich.” Eddie tells him. “Everyone’s important. Everyone has a voice. That’s kind of the point of this whole thing.”

Richie nods. “Then I guess I won’t stand in your way.”

He stands and leaves the room. Eddie is _confused_.

Okay, Richie’s mad at him. He deserves that. He needs to explain why he’d pushed Richie away after their kiss. He needs to tell Richie that he _does_ really like him, that their feelings are mutual, but also that his mother had been watching the entire thing and really, it’s a boner killer, okay? He figures Richie hadn’t quite realized Sonia was watching their entire encounter, because if so, he definitely would have understood a little better… right? Would Richie expect to keep kissing Eddie if _his_ mother were watching? Because really-

“What the hell did you do to Richie?” Stan asks, breaking Eddie from his thoughts.

“Nothing.” Eddie sighs. “He’s pissed at me because I haven’t talked to him since I ended our kiss abruptly, but it’s not my fault, okay, because-”

“Whoa, you kissed?” Stan interrupts again. “You didn’t tell me that.”

“It happened, like, two days ago.”

“That’s still two days you could’ve told me.” Stan remarks. “Wow. So _this_ is why you want to help the Toziers so badly. You just wanted to get to Richie.”

“No!” Eddie shakes his head, adamant. “No, I want to help them because they’re upset and broken and distraught over Kat’s death. I want to help them feel whole again.”

“And how are you going to do that?” Stan asks, not for the first time. “You’ve said so yourself; you’re not even whole yourself.”

“The Kat Connection.” Eddie supplies. “It’s always been the answer. I just didn’t realize it until now.”

“Right.” Stan nods. “That’ll be a great opening for your speech.”

“My… My _what?_ ” Eddie sputters. “My _speech?_ I’m not making a speech!”

“At the school memorial assembly you are.” Stan says. “Better buckle up, buttercup. Someone’s got to make a speech to christen this brand new foundation and your generous co-president has nominated you.”

Eddie blinks, his breathing suddenly shallow. “I’ve… I’ve never given a speech in my _life_.”

“Well then,” Stan beams. “This should be _quite_ entertaining.”


	4. Four

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! Once again, I'd like to apologize for the late update and once again, I'd like to reiterate that it's probably going to be like this for the foreseeable future. That's what I get for trying to work full time, go to graduate school full time and try to have a normal life in between. Can it be done? I'll let you know! Haha! Thank you so much for your feedback- I appreciate every single one of you that's taking the time to read this!

Four

It’s been almost two full, agonizing days since their kiss when he finally hears from Eddie.

Not like Richie’s counting, or anything.

He’d retreated to his bedroom the second Eddie had asked for his opinion regarding the latest installment in his obsession with Richie’s sister. He’s been lying on his bed and listening to Billy Joel, so that’s about how pathetic he’s feeling right about now. It’s just- he _likes_ Eddie, okay? Definitely as more than a friend. And yeah, okay, he gets that Eddie was Kat’s friend first and he understands that Eddie will still have some undying loyalty to his poor, tragically deceased best friend. He _gets_ that. It’s been ingrained in the forefront of his mind for the past month and a half since Kat had passed. But he had finally been feeling like Eddie had separated himself from the whole Kat disaster; it felt, ironically enough, given his nature of panic attacks, like he’d finally let himself _breathe_ again. And he definitely hadn’t been imagining it; Eddie had felt it, too. There is definitely a strong, fiery spark between them. Richie doesn’t _understand_.

Well, there is _one_ thing he understands- he’ll always be second best when it comes to Kat.

Even from the grave, the torment hasn’t ceased.

There’s a knock on the door just as Billy Joel is breaking into the beginning of _Vienna_ and instead of answering, Richie reaches over and turns the knob, the volume increasing exponentially. _Slow down, you crazy child. You’re so ambitious for a juvenile but then if you’re so smart, then tell me, why are you still so afraid?_ Richie frowns. Okay, this isn’t exactly making him feel any better. Another knock echoes off of the doorframe and his mother’s voice, muffled over his unnecessarily loud music, comes to him, then: “ _Richie, Eddie’s leaving. Do you want to come down and say goodbye?_ ” It’s the last thing he wants to do, actually, but thanks for asking. The music grows even louder and Richie smashes a pillow over his face. His mother says something else- he can _just_ make out her voice- but Billy Joel’s is louder; _You’ve got your passion, you’ve got your pride, but don’t you know that only fools are satisfied? Dream on, but don’t imagine they’ll all come true._

He hits the forward button and _Vienna_ bleeds into _We Didn’t Start the Fire_. That’s enough feeling sorry for himself, Richie decides. It’s all becoming too much.

Richie’s about to text Bev and see if she wants to get out and smoke somewhere, because he _needs_ her more than he’s ever needed anyone right about now. But the moment he reaches for his phone, it dings with a brand new text message, distracting him from all of his previous thoughts.

It’s from Eddie: _Hey, I’m really sorry. Are you mad at me?_

Richie wants to say yes, but then again, it’s not quite the truth, is it? He isn’t angry with anyone, per se. He’s _disappointed_ , but that makes him sound like his mother and he can picture her reproachful look, the pursed lips, her hands on her hips, and something about this makes him think of Kat _again_. He’s feeling a little deflated, but he can’t say that, can he? He can’t tell Eddie that he had put himself out there, can’t mention that he’d taken that risk only to be shot down, because that’s so not _him_ , is it? No, he’s Richie Tozier and when things don’t go his way, it’s _fine_ , right? He lets rejection and disappointment roll off of his back like he’s used to it.

And, honestly, he kind of is.

Instead, he types back, _Eds! My boy! Who could be mad at a cute little face like yours?_

He thinks it’s a safe response, truthfully.

But Eddie replies in four separate messages:

_Rich._

_I know you’re mad. You deserve to be. I’m sorry- what I did was bullshit._

_I want to blame my anxiety but I know I can’t. That was all me._

_You don’t hate me, do you? I feel really bad._

“Fuck, Eddie Spaghetti.” Richie sighs to an empty room. “It’s not that deep.”

He’s started to worry if maybe it _is_ , though.

He writes back: _Me? Mad at you? What would make you think that?_

_Seriously? You blew me off earlier and wouldn’t even talk to me before I left. I’m not saying I don’t deserve it but I am saying you seem pretty mad._

_Not mad, amigo, guess I was just confused. Don’t worry about lil ol’ me! I’ll find the strength to survive, somehow._

_Can you just stop joking around for one fucking second so we can talk?_

_You don’t know me very well, do you?_

_Well, I was starting to. You pumped the brakes on that real quick._

Richie audibly scoffs. _I pumped the brakes? Who kissed who? Who pushed away from who? I think you’re in the driver’s seat, Spaghetti Man. I don’t see how I’m pumping any brakes._

_It wasn’t you, Rich. I wasn’t trying to get away from you. It was my mom_.

At this, Richie pulls a face and can’t type his reply out fast enough. _You were picturing your mother while we were swapping spit? What the fuck? Have you ever kissed anyone before? You know that’s a big ol’ swing and a miss, right?_

_No._

_NO?!_

_I mean I haven’t kissed anyone before._

“Well, fuck.” Richie balks, his fingers flying before he can stop them. _Could’ve fooled me._

_Thanks? I guess?_

_But allow me to give you a little make-out 101- no picturing parents. Like ever. That’s fucking disgusting._

_I wasn’t picturing her, you moron. She was watching us the whole goddamned time._

Oh. _Oh_.

Suddenly, it’s like a weight is lifted from Richie’s shoulders. Instead of Billy Joel, Richie wants to listen to _Walking on Sunshine_ ; the rain clouds have cleared and sunlight gleams through his bedroom window. He kind of wishes he had known this all along.

Encouraged by his sudden mood shift, Richie types, _She like what she saw?_

_Why the fuck are you like this?_

_Eds, you wound me. Why didn’t you tell me?_

_I panicked, okay? I freaked out. I had to have the whole conversation with her and I was so exhausted I didn’t think right away about figuring stuff out with you too._

_We don’t have to do anything unless you want to._

_I know._

_We can just be friends if that’s what you want._

There’s a solid minute of those three agonizing dots that indicate Eddie’s typing. Richie kind of hates himself the entire time. He’s _always_ coming on too strong, with friends with significant others, it doesn’t matter. He’d been banished to the corner of his kindergarten classroom, the reading corner with the beanbags that faced the outside, every time he’d gotten a little too carried away, a little too overactive, a little too eager; his teacher, instantly fed up with him, would point him in that direction so he could have ten to fifteen minutes of what she fondly coined “Richie time”- i.e. his personal cool down session. It had been humiliating then and it’s no less humiliating now; the most recent incident had occurred over the summer when he and the guys had been at a party and he’d been innocently making out with a boy named Joshua. Joshua had told Richie to, verbatim, _slow his roll_.

Richie doesn’t have a happy medium. He’s black or white. He’s ride or die. He’s zero or one hundred.

Finally, after what seems like a decade, Eddie says, _I don’t know what to do._

There’s a lot Richie could interpret from that. But against his better judgment, his second nature, he asks, _Do you want to take it slow?_

_That’s probably best._

_Are you free tomorrow? We could just hang out._

_Sounds great. But I have to work on this speech for the assembly we’re organizing for Kat next week. Another time?_

_No sweat, Boba Fett!_

_Okay. We’re good, though? You’re not pissed at me?_

_Spaghetti-o, you’re a cutie. I never stay mad at cuties._

And that’s how it’s been for the past week.

He and Eddie have been texting pretty consistently ever since their conversation, but they haven’t seen much of each other, these days. Every time Richie asks Eddie to hang out, to see a movie, to grab a bite to eat or even just to come over and hang, he has something else he has to do. To be fair, Eddie has tried to reciprocate not once, but _three_ times and each time, Richie’s had a prior engagement. He’s been deep into rehearsals for _The Crucible_ , he’s had mountains of homework, he’s had to sit there with his weeping mother after she’d had a meltdown thinking about their first Thanksgiving without Kat… Somehow, no matter the circumstance, he and Eddie continue to _just_ miss each other, sometimes by the second. That sunny, warm feeling he’d had the moment Richie had realized their miscommunication is now starting to fade. In fact, he’s growing more and more agitated by the minute and he’s taken to moping.

Understandably, it’s driving his friends crazy.

“Rich, y-y-you know I th-think you’re a d-d-dumb fuck.” Bill tells him the following Friday, a blustery day in mid-November, the day of the assembly. “But th-this is a whole n-n-new level.”

“As always, Billiam, your confidence in me is remarkable.” Richie groans, lying on the bleachers behind the school. He and the guys have always eaten lunch by the football field and he’ll be damned if a little forty-degree weather gets in their way. “You ever thought of becoming a motivational speaker?”

“Sweetheart, he’s right about this one.” Bev tells him, carding her fingers through his hair. He’s been lying with his head in her lap and most days he finds this soothing. Today, he can’t seem to get out of his slump. “I think you should listen to him. 

“You’re be-being a fu-fucking dumbass.” Bill continues. “I luh-love you but it’s tr-true.”

“That’s some tough love.” Richie frowns. “Michael, shield me from this torture that never ceases!”

“Sorry, bud.” Mike says, a hand gently resting on Richie’s knee. “Though I don’t agree with Bill’s methods or word choice, the sentiment behind them remains true.”

“You too, Brutus?”

“Rich, I get that you’re upset and I’m sorry.” Bev offers. “You have every right to be.”

“Thank you, Bev, fuck. You’re the only one who cares about me. 

“Shh, I wasn’t done, sweetie.” Bev hushes him, her fingers working through a tangled knot at his scalp. “But this is so _not_ you. You’re not one to pout and bitch and moan. Get out there and fix it if you’re so upset. You clearly like Eddie more than you ever thought you did. He obviously means a lot to you. Don’t just let this settle. Fight for your man! Get what you want!”

“But what if it’s not what _he_ wants?” Richie asks. “I can’t do that. I can’t just- _Jesus fuck_. When did I start doing this? When did I start whining about boys?”

“We all have our moment.” Bev pats his head and Mike chuckles.

“It’s definitely what he wants.” He adds. “I definitely did not witness your kiss, but if I had, I would say that it was definitely not one-sided.”

“It is o-o-obvious that Eddie luh-likes you.” Bill says. “Anyone can s-s-see th-that.”

“Anyone?” Richie asks, skeptical. “ _Anyone_ can see that? 

“ _Anyone_.” Bill confirms. “He h-hangs around y-y-you all the time. _V-V-Voluntarily_. 

“So do you guys. You like me too, Billy?” Richie asks and Bill rolls his eyes. “He’s always at my place; my parents are obsessed with him.”

Bev shrugs. “He’s just trying to help.”

“Didn’t you say his mom was watching you guys kiss?” Mike asks and when Richie nods, he adds, “That’s pretty fucking awkward.”

“I didn’t know that. I mean, I saw her when we pulled up but how the fuck was I supposed to know she was just gonna like… _stand there_ and watch us talk?” Richie sighs. “I wouldn’t have done it if I had known. 

“Yes, you would’ve.”

“How dare. I have _some_ tact, for Christ’s sake.”

Bill ponders this. “M-Maybe you ju-just freaked him out.”

“If he was freaked out,” Richie disagrees. “Then why did he kiss back?”

“Tonight, on _Dateline_.” Mike chuckles. The other three stare blankly at him. “What? Have you guys never seen _Dateline_?”

“No, we watch _Netflix_ like normal people.” Bev replies.

Richie offers Mike a half-smirk. “Not a lot of channels out on the farm?”

Mike frowns. “Fuck you guys.”

“I th-thought it was f-f-funny, Mike.” Bill compliments and Mike beams. “But R-R-Richie, maybe he was f-f-freaked out by y-y-you fucking springing it on him, y-y-you douche canoe.”

“Stop insulting me! I’m fragile!” Richie exclaims. “I didn’t spring anything on him! He was a very willing participant!”

“B-B-But his mom di-didn’t know he was g-g-gay!” Bill shouts back and Richie frowns. “Imagine _th-that’s_ the way y-y-you’re parents found out _you_ w-w-were bi! You p-pr-pruh-probably caused a whole big s-sh-shit show in his house! Forgive the p-p-poor guy if he’s n-n-not ready to jump into the s-s-sack with you immediately, will you?”

“I didn’t expect any of that!” Richie says. “I asked if he wanted to go slow! But there is slow and there is _slow_. Like this is slower than molasses in January. The only thing slower would be a _stop_.”

“Honey, you both have a lot going on right now.” Bev reasons. “I think it’s okay if this whole disaster isn’t either of your priorities.”

“You know what? It’s fine. It goes all the way back to kindergarten, okay? Richie Tozier goes too hard, too fast. _Don’t_ make a joke, Bill.” Richie says and Bill frowns, closing his mouth. “Eddie is just helping my family for Kat, okay? And I knew that this whole time and I still… He doesn’t want to be with me. I’m a fucking moron for thinking otherwise.”

Mike shakes his head. “No, you’re not, Rich."

“You’re a fucking moron for a lot of things.” Bev tells him. “But this isn’t one of them. He likes you. _A lot_. Give him time, damn.”

“It’s fine.” Richie shrugs. “I’m done being a whiny bitch about it. How much time do we have? Twenty minutes? Someone wanna run lines?”

Bill shakes his head. “W-W-Why don’t you want t-t-to believe E-Eddie likes you?”

“I’ve been crushed enough for one lifetime, thanks.” Richie shrugs. “Act two, scene four?”

Bev frowns. “You’re not in that scene.”

“Well, pick one I’m in, _fuck_.”

“Rich,” Mike says quietly. “He _does_ like you.”

“It doesn’t matter though, does it? If he likes me or I like him.” Richie attempts a laugh, but it sounds more like a strangled cough. “He doesn’t need to be getting involved with _another_ Tozier when the first one clearly did a number on him.”

“Shit.” Bill shakes his head. “Why th-the f-f-fuck do you do that?”

“Do what, Billy Boy?”

“Put yourself down. _All the fucking time_.” Bill fumes and with one look, Richie can tell he is legitimately _angry_. “Don’t we laugh at your jokes? Don’t we always listen to your new voices or impressions? Don’t we always tell you how funny, genuinely funny, we think you are?”

Richie gulps. “Yes.”

“Then why the _fuck_ do you think that self-deprecating humor is funny?” Bill shoots back. “I’m sick and tired of this. We love _you_ , Rich; the person you _actually_ are, not the person you think you have to be so we won’t see whatever it is you’re always trying to hide from us. Don’t think we don’t see it or don’t notice it. You’re a good actor, but you’re not _that_ good. Stop acting like shit doesn’t bother you. Stop acting like you don’t deserve to be happy. Stop acting like Eddie is too good for you. If that’s what you want, then go fucking get him and stop moping around like this. Nothing’s going to change if you don’t make it change. You _can_ do it. Stop fucking pretending like you can’t. 

Richie blinks once. Then twice. “Yikes.”

“Wow.” Mike remarks and Bev nods.

“I know.” She says quietly. “He didn’t stutter _once_.”

Bill looks at Richie now, sheepish. “You’re m-my best fucking f-f-friend, but if I ha-have to watch you sh-shit-talk yourself one m-more time, I’m going to p-p-punch you in the f-f-face.”

“Duly noted, Big Bill!” Richie beams, sitting straight up and smacking a kiss to Bill’s cheek, much to the other boy’s chagrin. “I didn’t know our love ran so deep, darling! Many a cold, lonely night I laid awake dreaming that this day would come-”

“If you don’t punch him,” Bev warns. “ _I_ will.”

“He’s right though, you know.” Mike says. “He’s been right all along. You’re a good guy, Rich. I think you’ve heard the opposite so many times, maybe you started believing it.”

_I fucking hate you and I hope you know it._

_You’re a real piece of shit, Richie._

_You’ll never become anything in life._

_You’re going absolutely nowhere with that useless hobby of yours._

_Don’t take away his toys- it’s the only action he’s ever going to get  
_

_They’re not even your friends! They’re just pretending to like you because they don’t have the heart to let you go._

_Mom and Dad always said you were a mistake. Now I see why_.

Richie shakes his head of his thoughts, Kat’s voice ringing throughout his mind. It feels spooky; eerie to the point where goose bumps arise on his skin. He looks at each of his friends and feels an enormous swell of gratitude for each and every one of them. He wants to hug them, he wants to hold onto them _tightly_ , he wants them to swear they will never let him go. He does none of these things; he doesn’t need to. He knows they have his back; they’ve just proven it now as they have before, time and time again. He thinks, wonderfully, blissfully, of that dumb adage he’d heard or maybe read somewhere, seemingly a million years ago about how you can’t choose your family but you can choose your friends… or maybe it said something about how your friends are the family you _can_ choose… some shit like that. He’s not sure of the exact wording.

Yeah, Richie’s family’s kind of shit. But who needs them, anyway? He’s got the three best friends in the entire universe.

“I love you guys.” He singsongs and matches the peck he’d given Bill with one for Mike and Bev, too.

“I know you do.” Mike grins. “Love you too, Richie.”

Bev grins right back. “You better.”

“Now, I need your expertise.” Richie requests. “What in the actual fuck am I supposed to say to Eddie?"

“What expertise?” Bev snorts. “Bill and I have ever only dated each other and you know how _that_ turned out. And Mike’s longest relationship is with his milking cows."

“Hey!” Mike exclaims. “Leave Caroline and Delilah out of this.”

“You g-g-gotta find him f-f-first.” Bill points out and Richie frowns.

“Well, fuck.”

“No, that part’s easy.” Mike shakes his head, checking his watch. “He’s giving a speech for The Kat Connection in the auditorium in thirty minutes.”

Richie stands so quickly he bangs his knee off of the railing. “We’ve got to go! _Now!_ ”

“Thought you didn’t give a fuck about Kat?”

“Hilarious, but for once, this isn’t about Kat.”

“You know,” Mike comments, jogging to catch up with Richie and Bill, who’ve pulled ahead. “He’s doing a lot for your family and your sister. It’s pretty admirable.”

“Oh, fuck off.”

“Not the time, Mike.” Bev chuckles. “Not the time.”

“Wh-What are you g-g-going to say?” Bill asks and Richie shrugs.

“I don’t fucking know.”

“Okay… What are y-y-you going to do?”

“I… don’t know.”

“Great.” Bill rolls his eyes. “I’m g-g-glad you th-thought this through.”

“Hey,” Richie shrugs, grinning. “I’m an actor. I’ll improvise.”

***

“… so I’ve written everything you need to know down on these notecards for you and they’re in talking order, but if you want to go off book, you totally can.”

Eddie gulps past the baseball-sized lump in his throat and swallows. “Uh huh.”

“Just basically remember to breathe.” Ben says. “Breathe and speak slowly and clearly and make eye contact with someone or at least something in the crowd. When I get stuck, what always helps me is to…”

Of course, Eddie isn’t listening to a damn word Ben is saying. He’s too busy trying desperately hard not to pass out.

He’s been dreading this day since the moment The Kat Connection came into fruition. It’s a fact he’s been ruminating over for the last few weeks- _he’s never given a speech before in his life_. Regardless of Ben’s notecards, he has no idea what he’s going to say. He hasn’t seen the crowd yet, but he can hear them; there’s a small, consistent murmur of conversation on the other side of the curtain, a few coughs, a smattering of laughter. Eddie knows exactly what everyone inside this auditorium is most likely thinking. They’re expecting someone composed, someone poised and put together, someone who’s going to step up onto that stage and offer them advice and words of wisdom and a way to finally put Kat to rest without insulting her memory or forgetting she was ever even here. But Eddie’s not sure he’s the right person to do that; in fact, he _knows_ he’s not the right person to do that. This should be the job of someone who was close to Kat, someone who _knew_ her, inside and out; a family member, certainly, or a super close friend.

Unfortunately, Kat never had any of those.

“… and then just make sure you speak up because, honestly Eddie, you can be kind of quiet, sometimes. That’s normal when you’re nervous.” Ben goes on. “You’re going to do _great_ , though. I know you are.”

“Oh. Okay.” Eddie nods. “Sure.”

“Do you need me to do anything else?” Ben then asks.

Eddie thinks, _Yeah. Give this fucking speech for me so I don’t have to do it_.

Instead, he says, “Actually, could you get me some water? My mouth’s a little dry.”

“No problem!” Ben agrees enthusiastically. “I’ll grab one for myself, too, before I head out there and kick this thing off. Stan, would you like anything?”

“I’m good.” Stan shakes his head from the wing and Ben takes off. “Alright, Eddie, I put the notecards in order, I think Ben said already. They’re numbered and they’re organized as a way to guide you through this. If you need to look at them-”

“What do you mean, ‘if’?” Eddie asks. “I won’t be able to put them down.”

Stan frowns. “Well, you can’t _read_ off of the cards, Eddie. That’s not how speech giving goes. You use the cards as a backup in case you forget what we talked about.”

“I’m going to forget what we talked about.”

“No you won’t.”

“I’m going to step out there and just freeze. Probably pass out.”

“No you won’t!” Stan insists. “Stop being so fucking dramatic all the time.”

“You don’t know me very well, do you Stanley?”

“Don’t ‘Stanley’ me.” Stan warns. “Look, it’s not as big of a deal as you’re making it. Just go out there, say the things we agreed on, and then come back. That’s it. Think of it as like a recitation challenge or something for Facebook.”

Eddie stares at him. “A what?”

“You know, those stupid fucking challenge videos people are always doing.” Stan gestures vaguely. “The cinnamon challenge and that dumb-ass Tide pod challenge and the ice bucket challenge. The things people will do to avoid donating to charity or come up with new and creative reasons to visit the ER.”

Eddie shakes his head. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Oh. Right. I forgot you live under a damn rock.” Stan rolls his eyes. “Just take a deep breath. You were saying something earlier about breathing?”

“My anxiety-relieving breathing techniques?”

“Yeah. Do those.” Stan says as Ben comes back to them, handing Eddie a water bottle before sipping from one for himself. “Let’s do this thing.”

“Okay, it should only take me a minute or so to introduce the foundation and you.” Ben says and Eddie’s heart rate instantly increases. “So get ready.”

_Yeah. As if it were that easy_.

The moment Ben pulls the curtain and steps onstage, Eddie feels the panic setting in. He turns to Stan and very honestly admits, “I don’t think I can do this.”

“Eddie, _relax_.” Stan says in return. “I know this isn’t your strong suit but isn’t this how you get over your fears? By facing them?”

“Okay, but this isn’t just a fear, though.” Eddie says. “Like… I _legitimately_ cannot do this.”

“And how would you know that, never having tried?”

“I can’t breathe.”

“You’re breathing _literally right now_.”

“No, but like… I feel like my throat is closing.” Eddie defends himself. “I really think I’m going to die today, probably.”

Stan stares at him, deadpanning, “Get out there. You’re fucking fine.”

“ _… and now without further ado, it is my absolute honor to introduce my Kat Connection co-president, Eddie Kaspbrak!_ ”

Eddie stands, frozen in place. Stan rolls his eyes and pushes him forward. “Move your ass, Kaspbrak. _Now_.”

Without warning, his legs start moving out of their own accord and suddenly, he’s standing center stage, facing the entire auditorium. Well, perhaps “auditorium” isn’t _quite_ the right term; Derry High School is small and poor and they don’t quite have a conventional auditorium, so there’s a stage on the far wall of their gymnasium that works just fine. They raised the basketball hoops and stashed any sports equipment in the closet, placing folding chairs on the shiny wood floor and pulling out the bleachers so everyone would have a place to sit. It’s as low budget as they come; he has no idea what it’s like to go to a school with an actual auditorium with folding chairs and working stage lights and perhaps curtains they don’t have to manually pull open and closed with their hands. What a luxury that might be.

Not that it matters to him, really. He doesn’t plan on ever being back in this very spot.

Eddie is already sweating bullets. He’s glad the shirt he and Stan had picked out is a deep blue, because there’s no _way_ he isn’t sweating through his underarms and back right about now and that’s the _last_ thing he wants to think about because oh god, what if everyone could see? What if everyone is staring at this poor, sweaty teenager and thinking, _holy shit, who let him out of the house looking like that?_ Just the thought makes him sweat even _more_ ; he tugs on the collar of his shirt, feeling suddenly like it’s suffocating him, and that’s when his lungs decide, _hey buddy, is it cool if we fuck off for like thirty minutes or so, ‘cause we’re on strike now_. He can’t breathe. Instantly, his throat shrinks to the size of a pinhole and Eddie’s eyes widen at the size of the crowd. 

Okay, so it’s not _packed_. But there are a solid 150, 200 people staring back at him, waiting for him to speak.

Only problem is, _he can’t._

The sea of faces begins to swim in front of him and he feels lightheaded, like he’s moments away from- from _what_ , exactly?

Oh, that’s right. _Passing the fuck out_.

He glances to the wings, where Ben is giving him two thumbs up and Stan is mouthing something Eddie can’t make out. No name? No game? _Oh_. Your name. He wants Eddie to introduce himself. Yeah, he could probably handle that. He opens his mouth to speak and all that emerges is a tiny, choked squeak. The microphone in front of him echoes back its own loud squawk of feedback and a few people in the front row recoil. Eddie, instead, reaches for the water bottle Ben had left him, takes a few generous gulps, and then caps it, setting it with shaky hands on the podium in front of him. He grips the sides of the podium so hard his knuckles turn white. The notecards are waiting and Eddie reads the first sentence provided by Stan: _Introduce yourself and explain why you started this project, your connection to Kat._

_Kaspbrak, fucking pull it together._

_I’m trying. I can’t fucking breathe._

_Yes you can, you goddamned idiot. There’s literally nothing wrong with you. Just open your mouth and talk._

_I can’t. I just can’t._

_You don’t have a choice._

At this realization, Eddie glances up. Some people have begun to murmur in confusion, some in concern. Eddie attempts to clear his throat again and the tension in his chest eases the teeniest, tiniest bit. “Hello. Good afternoon. M-My name is Eddie Kaspbrak. I-I’m a senior and… Kat Tozier…”

He trails off and glances at the photo of Kat on the stage beside him, the one they’d use in the yearbook, smiling in her cap and gown- the cap and gown she’d now never wear. Eddie wants to vomit. The sudden roll of his stomach tells him vomiting is _imminent_ ; he grips the podium more firmly and feels the wood almost to his bones. “Kat Tozier was my best friend.”

“I know…” Eddie inhales a deep breath. “I know most of you don’t know who I am. Maybe many of you… Maybe you didn’t know Kat, either. But you know what happened; you know a tragedy took place right here, in our hometown. You know a life was lost. And… And you came here today because you want to help. You want to help stop this from happening again.”

_Breathe. In, one, two, three, four._

_You’re doing fine. One, two, three, four, five, six, seven._

_It’s okay. It’s all going to be okay. Out, one, two, three, four, five, six, seven._

And just as he’s starting to feel the _tiniest_ bit better, he steps out from behind the podium and trips, dropping all of his notecards on the floor.

He stares at them, scattered all over the stage, and his breathing grows even shallower.

_Oh my god._

_Oh Jesus FUCKING Christ._

He’s seen the movies; he expects the entire auditorium to erupt in laughter, poking fun at him from now until eternity. He’s never been so embarrassed in all his life.

Well- there was that _one_ time last year.

But then- no one laughs.

Eddie scrambles to pick up all of his cards and stands so quickly he sees stars. He clears his throat again and reads, “And it’s the tenth leading cause of death in the United States…”

He stares, confused, and notes the odd looks the crowd is now giving him. _What the fuck, Stan?_

And then he realizes- _all of his notecards are out of order_.

Panic seizes him and he turns to the wings, frantic. Stan is shaking his head, holding out his hands, as if to say, _it’s okay, it’s not a big deal, breathe, it’s fine, relax_. Except it’s _not_ fine, because what the fuck is he supposed to do now? Tell the crowd to wait while he fucking rearranges the notecards? He’s standing there, moments away from a complete and total meltdown, and the crowd has started to titter nervously. _What the fuck do I say? What the fuck do I do?_ Suddenly, everyone’s attention is turned to the back, where the gymnasium doors crash open and four figures enter the scene. Bev, leading the charge, Bill at her heels, Mike at his side-

And Richie.

They stop, crashing into one another, and trying- but failing- to quietly choose seats in the back. No one seems to pay them any mind once their initial loud entrance is over and they’ve all seemed to refocus their attention back on Eddie, who’s still standing and staring and not making a goddamned sound.

But it’s so fucking cliché, because Richie’s here now, Richie’s smiling encouragingly at him, and suddenly, Eddie breathes a little easier.

“Oh, uh, hi, hey. Thank you- um. Thanks for joining us. Your very loud entrance probably distracted them from my total wipeout just moments ago.” Eddie rambles and there’s a small buzz of laughter. Encouraged, he continues, “So where was I before I totally lost the very little cool I had to begin with?”

He glances down at the jumbled notecards in his hands and shakes his head. “We’re all here because of Kat, right? We’re here to remember her and maybe some of us are even here to try and let go of her. Whatever we end up doing- mourning, moving on- we just can’t _forget_ her. It’s one thing to maybe move on from some of the things that she said that she can now never take back, or maybe something we did to her that we now regret, but we cannot let her slip away. If we let that happen, then all of this would have been for nothing; her _life_ would have been for nothing. And that’s not fair to her. It’s not fair to make her into just another statistic.”

“And look, I can stand up here and read statistics off of my index cards all afternoon.” Eddie goes on. “I can tell you about the struggles Kat was going through and the things she was feeling and all of the changes she wanted to make but just couldn’t quite get there in the end. I don’t want to talk about any of that and, looking around the room at many of you, I wonder if I even have to. Because we have _all_ had that feeling of hopelessness before, right? Varying degrees of hopelessness, I’m sure, but we’ve still experienced it. We’ve still been there. So I don’t want to talk about how that feels. I want to talk about what to do next.”

He takes one last look at his notecards and drops them on the podium, abandoned. Instead, he takes the microphone out of its holster and steps away, closer to the edge of the stage where everyone can see him. “Over the summer, Kat and I went to the old rock quarry that runs along the Kenduskeag River. It was kind of our spot; we used to escape there any time things got bad at home. It was hot, at least ninety degrees, and humid too; Kat said we should go swimming. We had plans to jump into the water from a lower cliff edge, but on the way, I slipped. I fell, and it was a long fall, and after it was over, I just laid there, on the ground, with my arm broken and I felt… I felt trapped. I felt alone. I looked over the edge of the small patch of land I had fallen on and realized any further down and I would have died. I started to panic. I had never felt so… scared.”

Eddie swallows hard. “Have you ever felt like that? Have you ever felt like you had no one to turn to? Have you ever felt like you weren’t being heard, like your opinion didn’t matter, like your feelings were irrelevant? Have you ever felt cast aside, like someone’s second thought, or like no one cared that you were even there? Have you ever felt invisible, like you could scream or wave your arms or jump up and down and no one would even see or hear you make a sound? Have you ever thought, _maybe if I just disappeared, no one would even notice_?”

“I notice some of you nodding and others who have gotten very still or very quiet. It’s okay; it’s _okay_ to admit you’ve felt this way. I know I have.” Eddie nods. “Many times, but most recently, while I was lying there, waiting to be found. And the thing I want you to take away from all of this is that I _was_ ; I was found. Not moments later, Kat appeared over the edge and she carefully climbed down and offered me a hand and helped me back to the top. She showed me that she cared; she proved to me that I _mattered_. And that’s what I needed, just then, and it’s what everyone needs, everyday. I wish… I wish I could’ve done that for her. I wish I could have done more for her while she was still here.”

“Unfortunately, I can’t. No one can and I’m sure, even by sitting here, you all realize that.” Eddie sighs. “But that doesn’t mean we can’t do _anything_. That doesn’t mean we can’t offer someone else what we couldn’t offer Kat. Because when I was down, Kat offered me her hand. When I needed help, Kat was there to give it. And now… Now we get to do that for someone else; we get to do that for _each other_. So that lonely, awful, hopeless feeling you’ve got deep inside you… Just let that go. Let that float away. Let every cold, dark thought you’ve got bottled up inside you escape; you won’t need them anymore. Because someone will be there, someone will _always_ be there, and everything truly is going to be okay.”

“That’s essentially what The Kat Connection is all about.” Eddie says. “When you feel swallowed by darkness, when you feel like you have no one in your corner, when you feel shattered by everything you’re going through, someone will be there to guide you. You can reach out to the community of supporters and someone will be there to take your hand. You can vent or you can cry or you can just take it all in; someone will be there to listen. Someone is always there and someone is always going through a similar situation. It’s a place where people who feel like they don’t have anyone to count on can find someone to share their stories with and suddenly, feel much less alone. All you have to do is speak and someone- _someone_ \- will listen.”

Eddie drops his free hand to his side and something brushes up against the fabric of his jeans. He glances down and- it’s the bracelet Ben had made in memory of Kat. He smiles wistfully, remembering the phrase Ben had etched across it, and realizes these people before him likely don’t even care what he’s saying; they probably don’t even care what he has to say about Kat, either. They’re hanging on his every word, every eye is glued to Eddie’s face, but he wonders if what he’s saying about his relationship with Kat is even what they want to hear. No, he decides, what they want to hear is that there is _hope_ ; that what happened to Kat won’t happen to every teen or maybe even _any_ teen after today. He glances once more at Ben’s bracelet around his wrist and then back out at his captive audience, speaking the words his co-president had written.

“You are not alone.” Eddie states firmly. “It’s the motto of The Kat Connection. It’s what we want everyone here to take away from this. It’s… It’s what we all wish we could have told Kat, but unfortunately, we never got the chance. But we can tell each other. We can _help_ each other. Reach out. Speak. Be open with one another. Tell people how you feel and listen to them, too. You are not alone. Someone is _always_ there for you. I only hope that, after we leave here today, you all remember that. Thank you.”

And Eddie’s completely speechless when, a moment later, the only thing he’s met with is thunderous applause.

He walks, breathlessly, back to the wings, where both Ben and Stan are clapping wildly and cheering for him. Ben hugs him and Eddie, taken by surprise, hugs back somewhat awkwardly. “That was _incredible_ , Eddie! Way better than anything we had planned!”

“I honestly wasn’t expecting you to go off book.” Stan admits. “But it’s a good thing you did because I don’t know how else you would’ve _gotten_ to them like that.”

“It was really okay?” Eddie asks. “I was so fucking nervous; I thought I was rambling incoherently for twenty minutes.”

“No, you were rambling.” Stan nods. “But it was very coherent. Emotionally-charged. I think you did an excellent job.”

“The Kat Connection page already has six hundred followers!” Ben exclaims excitedly, thumbing through his phone. “That’s crazy! I could’ve sworn we only had, what? Fifty? Sixty?”

“No, we broke one hundred this morning.” Stan says. “But- shit, it just keeps going up. Alright, Derry, smash that like button!”

“Six hundred?” Eddie exclaims in surprise. “That’s crazy! There weren’t even that many people in the auditorium!”

“It doesn’t matter.” Stan shrugs and Ben nods his agreement.

“Yeah, they didn’t have to be here.” He says and turns his phone to face Eddie. “Your speech is everywhere already. This person put it on Facebook live-”

“ _What?_ They _filmed_ me?!”

“Here’s a direct link from Instagram.” Stan points out. “But the original post was on Tumblr.”

“What the _fuck?!_ ”

“Look, here’s a post from Twitter.” Ben points out. “ _Kudos to Eddie Kaspbrak. That speech really got to me, man_.”

“ _For anyone who’s ever needed to hear it,_ ” Stan reads from another post. “ _You are not alone. Thanks, Eddie Kaspbrak, for spreading this message. I really needed this today._ ”

“ _Take a couple of minutes out of your day and watch this speech by Eddie Kaspbrak_.” Ben continues down the line. “ _Share it with everyone you love and everyone you know_.”

“ _Eddie’s exactly right_.” Stan reads. “ _We’re not alone. No one is alone._ ”

_Like._

_Reblog._

_Repost._

_Share._

_Like._

_Share._

_Retweet._

_Repost._

_Reblog._

_Like._

_Share._

Eddie’s head is spinning. “How is it…? How am I…?”

“We broke 100,000!” Ben shouts excitedly. “I swear, we’re going to hit five.”

“Five? I’m shooting for one million.” Stan shakes his head. “This is going to go viral.”

“Going to? It already has!”

“Wait,” Eddie pauses. “There aren’t even 100,000 people in Derry, you guys. This has to be a bunch of trolls.”

“Trolls?” Ben chuckles. “Don’t be so negative!”

“And plus, this goes way beyond Derry, Eddie.” Stan says. “Hell, it’s way beyond _Maine_ at this point. We’re seeing posts from people in San Francisco, Syracuse, Kissimmee, Minneapolis…”

“Detroit, Houston, L.A., Albuquerque.” Ben goes on. “I wouldn’t be surprised if you went global, after this.”

Eddie shakes his head, speechless. “I don’t… I don’t understand what happened.”

Stan laughs, clapping him on the shoulder. “Eddie, _you_ did this.”

_I can’t stop watching this video._

_3 mil views and 2 mil are all mine._

_I never met you, Kat, but coming here and reading everyone’s posts, I feel like we would have had a lot in common._

_So many feels._

_This is EVERYTHING._

_Thank you, Eddie, for bringing this to my attention. The world needs to read this and listen to your beautiful message._

_None of us are alone._

_Seventeen years old._

_It’s so easy to let this all slip by and let your own inner darkness consume you but don’t give in. Someone is there for you. I’m there for you!_

_I’m weeping at my computer and sending this to everyone I know._

_This is a beautiful tribute by the world’s greatest best friend._

_I know someone who really needed this, Eddie, so thank you for what you’ve done._

_Thank you, Eddie Kaspbrak!_

Eddie’s face is everywhere. Eddie’s _speech_ is everywhere.

And now he’s breathless for an entirely different reason.

***

It’s been an hour. The Kat Connection has over one million followers.

Eddie’s still speechless.

He’s still sitting in the wings while the commotion, the celebration, occurs in the auditorium/gymnasium hybrid without him. Stan and Ben have abandoned him and over the raucous conversation on the other side of that curtain, he knows they’re there, somewhere. Right now, he’s content with just _existing_ by himself. He needs the time; he has a strong feeling that the moment he steps down from this stage, nothing else will ever be the same again. And then again, maybe that’s what he needs; maybe it’s what he’s unconsciously wanted all along. He inhales a deep breath and stands, barely ready but eager all the same, when his phone falls out of his pocket, clattering onto the floor. Truthfully, he’d forgotten it was in there; in all the hype over The Kat Connection’s growing fame, Stan and Ben had been the ones showing him all of the ruckus. He hadn’t looked at his phone even once.

He has 27 unread texts, four missed calls and three voicemails.

24 of the unread texts, all of the missed calls and the three voicemails are all from his mother. Eddie ignores these.

Instead, his attention is instantly grabbed by the three missed texts he has from Richie:

_Eds holy fucking shit. How can one person be so goddamn amazing?_

_Where are you? I need to see you before I explode._

_Okay idk where you are but I’m going to come find you. Can’t blame you for leaving- this gym is a goddamn zoo._

Eddie, frantic, types back, _I’m still here! Where are you?_

The three ‘Richie’s typing’ bubbles appear before Eddie has even sent the message. Richie replies, _Wtf where? I looked everywhere. Stay put, lil munchkin, I’m omw_.

He rolls his eyes and feels betrayed by the smile tugging at his lips. _I resent the term munchkin in reference to the little people from Wizard. I’m going to assume you’re calling me a doughnut hole instead._

_Why? ‘Cause you’re a lil snac?_

Okay, Eddie set himself up for that one.

He steps out of the wing and pulls back the curtain, anxious and jittery for a brand new reason, and the moment he does, the room erupts in applause once more. Eddie freezes in place, unsure of what to do. People are congratulating him, thanking him, clapping him on the back and shaking his hand. Kids he’d gone to school with his entire life, kids who had _never_ before spoken to him, are now addressing him by name, smiling at him and looking him in the eye. _Is this what it’s like?_ He wonders in awe, slowly but surely making his way through the crowd. _Is this what it’s like to be noticed?_

“Eddie!” A girl with a bouncy ponytail beams in his direction. “Will you take a selfie with me?”

“Oh, uh, sure. I guess so.” He nods and poses awkwardly beside her as she brings the phone up to frame their faces.

“Thank you.” She says appreciatively. “For _everything_.”

“Oh, Eddie.” A woman croons next and when Eddie turns in her direction, it’s his history teacher from the ninth grade. She bends down, kisses his cheek and captures him in a tight embrace. “Thank you. Thank you for being brave, for being the voice… for doing _something_.”

She has tears in her eyes when she pulls away and Eddie nods. “O-Of course, Mrs. Mulaney.”

“Hey! Kaspbrak!” A guy from his gym class shouts. “Nice going, man!”

“Thank you.”

“Eddie! This was _such_ a good idea!”

“Thanks, I, uh, I really appreciate that.”

“Eddie!” A talkative girl from his math class calls and when he turns in that direction, she’s ushering two adults in front of her. “Eddie, these are my parents. They were so worried and so upset when Kat passed away. But talk to them! Tell them what you’re going to do. Tell them how you’re going to make things right!”

“Oh, um, hi. Hello.” Eddie nods politely. “I just… Well, it’s not really a matter of making something _right_. It’s about making sure everyone knows that there is always a better way, another option, than the one Kat chose.”

“I see.” The man nods and the woman pulls a sympathetic face.

“It’s about making sure no one ever feels trapped like Kat did.” Eddie continues. “Making sure, you know, that we’re not feeling so down without getting help.”

“See?” The girl tells her parents. “I told you what he’s doing is _amazing!_ ”

“It certainly is.” Her mother agrees. “God bless you, honey.”

Eddie thanks them and turns, but collides with another family, a younger couple pushing their maybe-thirteen-year-old son towards him. “Hi, Eddie. Oh, we’re just so impressed with what you’re doing and what you’ve accomplished so far. Taking the initiative to move forward in a positive light and prevent this from happening again. It’s just… It’s so _admirable!_ ”

“Thank you.” Eddie says and honestly just wants _desperately_ for the spotlight to be off of him already.

“Isaac, tell Eddie what’s going on.” The man nudges his son, who pulls a face and shakes his head.

“He’s been having trouble with some bullies at school.” His mother explains. “It’s just… He won’t talk to us about it and I’m worried.”

“Mom, it’s _fine_.” Isaac rolls his eyes. “Don’t make everything such a big deal.”

“It _is_ a big deal!” She insists. “If you’re being tortured to the point where you can’t go to school, I’d say that’s a big deal!”

“That was _one_ time and it was my fault, anyway. I shouldn’t have… Never mind. You’re being dumb.”

“Hey, don’t talk to your mother like that.”

“Dad, she _started_ it. What the hell?”

“Watch your language!”

“Hey,” Eddie cuts in. “Bullying is no joke. Trust me, I’ve been there.”

“Yeah _right_.” Isaac disagrees. “Everyone’s obsessed with you.”

Eddie tries not to smirk. “No, they’re really not. I’ve been made fun of my whole life and for the dumbest stuff, too. I know what you’re going through.”

“It’s _not_ a big deal.”

“If it makes you upset, Isaac,” Eddie tells him. “It _is_ a big deal.”

His parents stare pointedly at their son. Isaac, of course, is only looking at the ground. “If you ever need to talk to someone, you let me know. My email address is on the Kat Connection website. Otherwise, our forums are open 24/7.”

As he turns to go, he hears the preteen let out a tiny, “Thanks.”

It makes Eddie smile.

He pushes his way through the crowd, remembering only then that he’s looking for Richie, and a thrum of nervous excitement courses through his veins. He accepts a few more pats on the back, handshakes and congratulations and then he spots Stan and Ben, who are having a _long_ conversation with a few girls from their class. Stan spots Eddie and shoots him a grin, saying, “And there’s the man himself! Kaspbrak, tell them all about your grand plans for The Kat Connection’s future.”

“I…” Eddie trails off, nonchalantly scanning the crowd. “I mean, we still need to go back to the drawing board and-" 

“And we’d be happy to help you, of course.” Ben nods. “Stan and I are very active members of the foundation. In fact, Stan’s the secretary _and_ the treasurer and Eddie and I are co-presidents because we actually cofound the organization.”

“We’re up to 1.3 million, by the way.” Stan says. “And counting.”

“That’s incredible.” Eddie remarks, truly blown away. “I mean, I really… I really couldn’t have asked for anything more.”

Stan turns away from the group for a moment, asking, “Where’s your better half?”

“I’m sorry?”

“Don’t play dumb with me, Kaspbrak.” Stan rolls his eyes. “I know you’re looking for Richie. Haven’t you fucked that up enough already?”

“I hope not.” Eddie shakes his head. “I have to apologize to him. I have to… I have to make sure he knows how I _really_ feel.”

“Haven’t seen him in a while, to be honest.” Stan shrugs. “Although his friends are over there.”

Eddie squints and through the sea of faces, he spots Bev, Mike and Bill sitting on the bleachers. “Thanks. Stan, really, thank you.”

Stan just grins. “You owe me! And I _will_ collect!”

“I have no doubt.” Eddie replies and he’s off.

He’s just steps away from Bev and the boys when she brightens and leaps off of the bleachers to pull him into a hug. “Eddie, your speech was _amazing_. I’m so glad we made it in time to hear it.”

“Me too.” Eddie hugs back and when she releases him, Bill claps him on the back, Mike shakes his hand. “Thank you guys for coming. You didn’t have to do that.”

“‘C-C-Course we did.” Bill shrugs. “I’ve known K-K-Kat for years and sh-she’s always b-b-been… Well, I never th-thought she’d do s-s-something like this. But it’s g-g-good that you’re t-trying to make sure n-n-no one else s-s-suffers like she did.”

“We were saying earlier how amazing of a friend you are.” Mike compliments. “To not only honor Kat like this, but also to do this for Went and Maggie. And Richie, obviously.”

“Yeah, he was never the fondest of this whole ‘remember Kat in a positive light’ thing.” Bev comments. “But now? After he heard your speech? I think you inspired him.”

“I don’t know.” Eddie shakes his head. “I mean- I wouldn’t say all of that, but-”

“Eddie,” Bev laughs. “Take a compliment. This whole thing? This is pretty spectacular. You should be proud of yourself.”

“I’m p-p-proud of you, E-E-Eddie.” Bill grins at him. “And I b-b-barely know y-y-you.”

“Thank you.” He says. “Richie’s really… He’s really lucky to have friends like you guys.”

“Yeah.” Mike chuckles. “You mind reminding him of that? He seems to forget from time to time.”

They share a laugh and finally Eddie gets to ask the most obvious, pressing question. “Do you know where he is, by the way? I’ve just been looking for him and I can’t… I just haven’t seen him.”

Bev glances at her watch and beams, sticking a hand directly in Bill’s face. “Fucking _yes_. Pay up, Denbrough. You said less than two minutes and we’ve been talking approximately six and a half.”

“ _F-F-Fuck_ , Bev.” Bill groans and digs into his pocket for his wallet. “You b-b-better be m-m-making Mike pay, too.”

“I’ll get to him when I get to him.” Bev rolls her eyes. “Pay _up_.”

He slaps a crisp bill into her awaiting palm and she turns to Mike. “Don’t think you’re getting away from this one, Hanlon. You’re sweet and charming, but you can’t nice your way out of this.”

“In my defense, I think you stalled him by starting the conversation yourself.” Mike frowns, placing another bill in Bev’s hand. “If you let Eddie speak first, I think I still could’ve won.”

“Wait,” Eddie pauses. “Are you _betting_ on me?”

“Not _on_ you, per se.” Bev shrugs. “Just when you’d ask about Richie.”

Eddie colors. “Am I that predictable?”

“Don’t be ashamed! He talks about _you_ nonstop.”

“Yeah, he’s freaking crazy about you.” Mike confirms.

Bill nods. “ _I_ said l-l-less than t-t-two minutes into the c-c-conversation. Bev s-s-said after fi-five minutes. Mike said i-im-immediately.”

Mike holds up his hands when Eddie looks at him. “You thought I’d just ask about Richie without even saying hello?”

“Hey, it was a long shot.” Mike counters. “But I thought you might, if you were desperate enough.”

“Wow. Thanks.”

“Don’t hate me. I’m out five bucks, now.”

“Good!”

“Anyway,” Bev chuckles. “I’m ten dollars richer and I haven’t seen Richie in a bit. He left when you didn’t text him back and then he just came back a couple of minutes ago. He stopped here first to see if we’d seen you, but we hadn’t-”

“And th-then when we d-d-did, we made the b-b-bet.” Bill adds not so helpfully and Bev frowns.

“Can it, Denbrough.”

“And then he took off into the crowd.” Mike finishes. “So no, haven’t seen him recently, but he’s here, somewhere. He’s looking for you.”

“Great.” Eddie sighs. “So I have to go back through this whole crowd again to find him.”

“Good luck!”

“Wait!” Bev stops him. “You’re not going to break his heart, are you? He really, _really_ likes you, Eddie. I just don’t want to see him get hurt, you know? He’s an idiot, but he’s a good guy.”

“No, I…” Eddie stammers, shaking his head, suddenly nervous. “I’m not going to hurt him.”

Bev nods, smiling. “Promise?”

“Yeah. Yeah, of course.”

“Then why are you still standing here?” She laughs. “Go get the son of a bitch!”

And he has absolutely every intention to-

But halfway through the crowd, he sees Went and Maggie.

His first thought is that he barely recognizes either of them. Here’s Wentworth, hysterical, sobbing into his wife’s shoulder and here’s Maggie, calm as ever, rubbing his back and holding him together. It’s like they’ve switched bodies; Went has always been so reserved, so quiet and stoic with his grief that Eddie could have never seen this coming. Maggie, of course, has always been so incredibly open with how deeply she’s hurting and yet this, this simple action done by her daughter’s best friend, has left her intact. Eddie wonders if this is finally the straw that had broken the camel’s back, so to speak; Went had been piling it on and holding it in and trying to be there for his wife instead of himself, and now here he is, openly breaking down, finally letting it all out.

Went, ironically enough, is the first to notice Eddie, and he straightens, clearing his throat but not bothering to wipe the tears from his face. He nods and Eddie nods back, unsure of what to say to such an open display of grief. Maggie turns, notices him, and her entire face melts into one of happiness. “Oh, Eddie! Honey, this has all been too much! I don’t even know what to say.”

She, of course, pulls him close, embracing him tightly. His arms come around her automatically and after a beat, Went embraces them both. “We really can’t thank you enough.”

“I’m sorry.” Eddie says. “I really am sorry to have to keep… Well, hashing this out. Reopening an old wound.”

“Oh, sweetheart, don’t even worry about that.” Maggie tells him. “You have been such a joy- such a _comfort_ \- to us. It’s us who should be sorry; I mean, we’ve taken you away from your life with how much we’ve needed you these past couple of months!”

Eddie resists the urge to ask, _what life?_

“I’m happy to help.”

“Of course we’ll always be upset over Kat. We’ll _always_ miss her.” Went says, his voice wavering the slightest bit. “But this is also… They’re also…”

“Tears of joy.” Maggie says incredulously, like she doesn’t quite believe herself. “I just can’t… I can’t believe that your project- your _organization_ -”

“Connection.” Went corrects and Maggie nods.

“This connection of people,” Maggie goes on. “I mean, just strangers, really-”

“Friends, now.” Went interrupts again. “I mean, a whole _community._ ”

“Right, this whole community was born out of… out of what happened.” Maggie says. “And now, people will have someone to turn to. Someone to talk to. People will have someone to lift them up when they need it or to just… extend a helping hand. It’s just… it’s all just…”

“And here’s the start of it all.” Went proclaims, grinning at Eddie despite the tears in his eyes. “ _You_.”

They each take their turn hugging and kissing him and a lump forms in Eddie’s throat. _I swear to fucking God if you start crying right now_ , he warns himself just as Went says, “I am so proud of you and of everything you’ve done.”

“I love you, Eddie.” Maggie professes. “I do. I don’t know if that’s weird for you, but I- _we_ truly, dearly love you.”

Tears burn his eyes. _What did I just fucking say?_ “I-I love you guys, too.”

“I wish…” Went starts to say and then gets choked up, shaking his head.

Maggie picks up his slack. “I wish we could do for you what you just did for us; for _everyone_.”

He has to step away; he suddenly feels so overwhelmed, he can’t breathe.

Eddie hugs them both one last time- he’s not sure they’d let him step away without doing so- and not so gently pushes his way to an opening in the crowd, feeling that all familiar prickling of a panic attack on the rise. He tries to do everything he can to ward off that god-awful feeling of his throat closing, his lungs aching, his palms sweating-

“Where the _fuck_ have you been?”

Eddie whirls around and finally, _finally_ , Richie’s standing in front of him, looking disheveled, out of breath, and entirely too pleased with himself. Eddie squawks out a surprised, “Rich?”

“I fucking _ran_ ,” Richie begins, pausing to catch his breath. “From one end of the goddamned school to the other. I shoved people out of my way when I got here. I asked Bev and the guys if they’d seen you and they said _no_ -”

“I’m sorry.” Eddie can’t help it; he chuckles.

“Well, you should be. I don’t _run_ , Eds.”

“No, I meant I’m sorry you’re so fucking slow.” Eddie replies giddily. “You texted me at least forty-five minutes ago saying you were on your way and this school isn’t that big, Richie.”

Richie gapes at him for a minute before his mouth curves into a smile. “You little asshole.”

“What did I say about you calling me little?”

“I’ll call you whatever I fucking want, you punk.” He steps closer. “Sorry I didn’t realize you’d be meeting with your fan club all afternoon. Guy starts _one_ measly little foundation and suddenly he’s, like, Michelle Obama.”

Eddie quirks an eyebrow. “Michelle Obama?”

Richie shrugs. “Don’t follow many organizations, honestly.”

Eddie smiles as bright as the sun. Richie’s grin is just as wide, just as goofy, and Eddie is hit with the sudden, strong urge to kiss him, right then and there, in front of- well, actually, no one’s paying them even the slightest bit of attention. It’s probably for the best. As if Richie’s somehow read his mind, he steps closer still, reaching for Eddie’s waist, but Eddie can’t, he _can’t_ , not after what happened last time. He can’t do that _again_.

At least, not without first saying what he has to say.

He puts the tiniest bit of distance between them and confusion clouds Richie’s gaze. “Are you putting me on the hook, Eds? Because I have to say-”

“Don’t.” Eddie shakes his head and Richie stops abruptly. “Just… I’m sorry. I’m so sorry about the last time.”

“Oh, dude, seriously? Your mom was watching.” Richie grimaces. “If I had known that, I wouldn’t have kissed you, obviously.”

“Right, but I should’ve told you that instead of being radio silent for two days.” Eddie says. “So I’m sorry and I didn’t mean to upset you-”

“Upset me? You didn’t _upset_ me, I was just… confused. I thought… I mean, it doesn’t fucking matter.”

“It _does_ matter, though. I don’t want you to think I don’t like you, because I do. I really, _really_ like you.”

Richie beams as if, for some god-only-knows reason, he hadn’t known that. “Well ain’t it just my lucky day, sugah.”

“Richie…” Eddie glances at him, meets his eye, and momentarily gets choked up.

There’s a lot he wants to say. There’s a lot he _could_ say.

_I really, really like you. I always have._

_My mom- she didn’t know, but she does now. She knows who I am. She knows the truth._

_It was you. You helped me gain the courage to stick up for myself._

_You helped me through that awful conversation with her without even knowing it._

_It was you, all along._

_It’s always been you._

Richie’s looking so sincerely at him, though, and Eddie can’t find the words.

Instead, Richie just grins and Eddie is instantly put at ease.

He doesn’t have to say anything at all; Richie just _knows_.

He steps a bit closer, into the space Eddie had carefully placed between them, and says, “Eds.”

Eddie reaches up, frames Richie’s face with both of his hands, and kisses him.

He _knows_. Richie knows.

And now the rest of the world does, too.


End file.
